


flash your heart on the walls

by tinyfingers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Sickness (Minor), Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Injury, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Tyrion/Brienne friendship!, climbing fic, no Jaime/Cersei incest, some characters to be introduced only in later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-04-22 23:50:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 73,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19139338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyfingers/pseuds/tinyfingers
Summary: Modern AU where Jaime and Brienne find their way to each other amidst lots of climbing references, heart-to-hearts, and rambles about food.Features a road trip to the Peak District, a market date, and Jaime/Brienne being good at the things they love.Note: No Jaime/Cersei incest, but she's manipulative and unfortunately, family.





	1. Chapter 1

Fridays are Brienne’s favourite days. Partly because she has arranged her schedule so that she doesn’t have any classes, but mostly because she offers to work the entire afternoon and night at the climbing gym. It doesn’t make a difference, she tells Catelyn Stark, who owns the gym and its two other branches, she would be there climbing even if she was working the shift, and the money helps to pay the outrageous London rent.

She already pays a little less rent than she really should for living in the vicinity of Old Street, but Margaery and Loras’ grandmother bought them a nice apartment not too far from the tube station and they insist that she pays enough for the room. 

Brienne has no complaints - the room fits a double bed, a small desk, and a tiny wardrobe (by the Tyrell siblings’ standards, not hers), and has enough space for her to work out in. 

She cycles to the gym, because the tube is always stuffy and she loves riding on the roads during off-peak hours, with her climbing shoes clipped on a small backpack stuffed only with spare clothes and her lunch. 

Renly’s already there when she arrives just past noon. She’d been excited when she just started working at the gym as a fresher, because he worked mostly in the afternoons, which was when  _ she  _ was free to take shifts too. He was one of the first few men to look at her without smirking in that way that adolescent boys would whenever they knew a girl was ugly. 

Once, one of her classmates, Connington, had dropped by the gym and remarked too-loudly: “I do wonder, how a gorilla like you comes to man the counter at any place. You’re scaring anyone who wants to come in.” Renly had insisted on making Connington’s coffee, but added chalk instead of milk and used old coffee grounds that had already been discarded.

Brienne had to choke back her laughter when Connington proved that  _ he truly had no taste  _ and said it was a great latte. 

She had nearly mustered up the courage to ask Renly out for lunch before work one Saturday when she saw him come out of Loras’ room one Sunday morning, very naked. Since then, they’d become good friends, and she doesn’t deny that Renly’s happiness working at the gym, despite his dentistry degree, is a reason why she isn’t looking for a job like most of her economics coursemates. 

She’s in her final year, and most people are applying for graduate programmes, or have already secured offers after their second-year internships. But despite having offers from two respectable consultancy agencies which she grudgingly applied to, in a bid to convince her father that she wasn’t simply wasting her time in London and university, she’s left them hanging and isn’t sure she wants to accept either of them. 

The corporate world isn’t made for women who are more than six feet tall, shy, freckled and ugly, and blunt with their words. It doesn’t suit someone like Brienne, who has about as much tact as an eight-year-old. It’s not that she isn’t polite, but she just isn’t good at reading people, much less those well-versed in office politics. She knows she’d hate it, but it is the  _ right thing to do  _ given that she refuses to join the Tarth family business back in Wales. Much as she loves the farm, she can’t imagine moving away from London after living in the city for the last two years.

She enjoys working at the bouldering gym, where she helps with the accounts, meddles a little with the gym’s Instagram page, makes good coffee and cleans up after they close. Catelyn’s offered her the opportunity to join them full-time, and to take on more responsibilities as the head of their South branch. The pay wouldn’t be anything near what the consultancy firms were offering, but it would be enough for rent, food and some savings. But she would love going to work every day, and it would mean she’d get to set new routes every week, which has been the highlight of her university life. 

She’s easily the Stark gym’s resident barista. She’d always liked to make a good drip coffee for herself on the weekends, and messed around plenty with Loras’ fancy espresso machine. But it wasn’t until she was making hundreds of lattes and the occasional hand brews that she realised she was  _ good at it,  _ and rather liked it. 

Robb and Jon come in just before 4pm, unlike her, they didn’t realise that Econometric Theory ran on Friday afternoons, and picked it because “the professor was cute”. They’ve been climbing since they were children, and Robb would have had a chance at making the national team had he been more serious about it as a young teenager, if he hadn’t been so preoccupied “chasing skirts”, as Jon puts it. 

He’s broad, but his frame is lean from his regular runs and long hours on the wall, and there’s a natural athleticism in his dynamic movements that neither Jon nor their friend Theon can match. Robb’s already accepted a job with McKinsey, and they know that it won’t be long before he turns into one of those white collar corporate types that stream in on the weekends. 

Jon’s not as talented as his cousin, but he’s always been the best of them at route-setting, constantly coming up with new problems that they’d puzzle over for a couple of days before finally figuring them out. 

Last week, Jon invited Brienne to join him at a route-setting course during the Easter break. “It’s in Copenhagen for a week, accommodation and food’s all paid for by the organisers so we just have to get our flights there. I’ve checked, they’re under £50, and we only have three exams after Easter, so… think about it? It’ll change what you think about the routes on slabs and overhangs, and it’ll be a ton of fun. Let me know.” 

She’s trying very hard to find a reason to turn him down, but hasn’t been able to all week. 

Arya and Sansa come in later in the evening, bearing pizza from the nearest sourdough pizza joint that they love. Arya’s been the national girls’ bouldering champion two years in a row, and has been invited to join the national team’s training camp during Easter break in Font, but Catelyn’s not convinced that it’s the right decision when she’s sitting for her GCSEs this year. 

But Brienne can tell that Arya’s mind is more on the World Cup rather than the exams, and knows the dark-haired teenager will find a way to convince her mother to let her join the camp. Plus, Font is always a good idea in spring. 

Sansa’s a law student at King’s, and bouldering’s always been more of an afterthought for her compared to her siblings. But having grown up near the walls, there’s an easy grace in which she navigates the routes, especially on the slabs, and Brienne’s always admired her footwork, definitely honed from the years of ballet she did as a child.

Brienne started climbing when she was 8, when her older brother Galladon used to take her to some of the boulders near the family farm. He was always braver than her, going for the dynamic moves on the steep overhangs and committing to the moves. But his courage had also been the cause of an awful accident when he was barely 18, when he went to climb in Spain with some of his friends, and a misjudged dyno left him with two dislocated shoulders and a slipped disc. He’d never been the same after that, even if he indulged in easy climbs indoors now and then, and Selwyn Tarth forbid her from climbing outdoors again. 

It was on the rocks that she felt happiest - where it didn’t matter that she was too tall for her age, for a girl, that she had a face that only family could love, or that her shoulders were broader than most grown men. She felt strong when she held on to tiny crimps, graceful when she negotiated near-invisible footholds, brave when she stuck tricky dynos, and it never mattered that she was the ugliest girl she’d ever seen. No one could mock her when she was climbing,  _ words were wind. _

She’s cleaning the espresso machine for the day when a gust of cold wind enters - it’s 9pm, when most people are leaving the gym rather than coming in, much less asking for coffee, so she’s surprised when this man asks for two double espressos.

“Sorry, but I’ve already started cleaning the machine… We aren’t serving any more espresso drinks for the night,” she blushes slightly, feeling bad for the dwarf who looks visibly tired and annoyed that he won’t be getting any caffeine. 

“Man, I thought I had a chance here, the roastery next door’s closed for the day as well, but I’ve got some projects to complete tonight and my brother and I could really do with some coffee.”

Brienne bites her lip, but soon breaks into a small smile as she realises that she hasn’t washed the grinder yet. “I could make you a couple of hand brews, it’ll take maybe 10, 15 minutes?” 

The man grins widely, and rubs his hands in glee. “You’re a delight, tallest lady I’ve ever met. Thank you for the trouble.” 

“Ah, it’s no bother at all. And I’m no lady, I’m Brienne. Brienne Tarth.”

“Miss Tarth, nice to meet you. I’m Tyrion, Tyrion Lannister.”

Brienne pauses -  _ Lannister?  _ “You work at Lannister Group?” “Ah… yes.” 

There’s a little hesitation in his voice, the Lannister Group’s property arm has been subject to much criticism by the occupants in the area since they started buying up the old factory buildings and raised rents. Catelyn had been thinking of moving out of the South gym’s premises and into a larger space nearer to their other two branches up north, but the South gym was by far the most accessible for most and their most popular branch.

She patiently brews two cups with a Kalita wave - her preferred dripper because it’s a little more forgiving than others - and makes small talk with Tyrion. He is the youngest son of the Lannister Group’s CEO, Tywin Lannister, and despite his small stature, speaks with a commanding confidence that borders on arrogance, and has humour to spare. 

She enjoys the conversation, especially when he starts asking about different beans and roasts that they use at the gym. The Lannister Group is looking at acquiring some coffee plantations,  _ of course they are _ , and he asks her for her opinion like she’s not just some university student making him coffee because the cafe next door has closed. Tyrion listens, and looks at her in the way like he’s really listening, instead of smiling and letting it float by. He actually makes a little note when she tells him about how they shouldn’t just acquire a plantation which has been producing good beans, but to consider the entire chain of farmers and how it’ll affect them, and even asks her if she’d like to try the beans from the plantations they’re considering. 

“I’d be happy to. Here you go, the Kenya’s on your left and the other’s from Rwanda. Let me know what you think the next time you pop by, I’d love to let you try something from Colombia when we get them in after the weekend. Also - maybe you could come in for a climbing session too. We run beginner sessions, and I could show you some of the basics, if you’d like. It’s good fun.” 

She almost sets the two cups down on the counter when she realises that it’ll be too high for him to reach, and casually eases out of the booth to hand him the two cups personally. He nods slightly in appreciation, and tries to hand her £20 when the coffees are barely £10 between them.

“I insist, you didn’t have to make them. And I will drop by, but only if you’re my tutor. See you soon, Miss Tarth.” 

“It’s Brienne, and I look forward to it, Tyrion.” 

\--

He likes Brienne - it’s not often that people are considerate of his needs without making them painfully obvious and inconvenient, and it helps that the Kenyan coffee she’s brewed is one of the best things he’s had in ages. 

“Jaime! Help me with the door, won’t you. This is delightful coffee, and I will not spill a single drop of it.” 

He kicks the glass door, tapping as he sees his golden-haired brother peering at his phone with a scowl. 

But Jaime perks up when he smells the coffee, and saunters over on his long legs, looking handsome even despite the weariness in his face. He was born with all the looks, but Tyrion likes to jibe that he got all the brains. 

“You took long enough, dear brother.” 

“Well, the swill-serving cafe was closed because it was past nine, but this wonderful young lady at the Stark bouldering gym made us these.” 

Jaime takes a quick gulp, and a smile spreads slowly across his face. “You’re right. Man, why have we been putting up with that awful thing they call an americano for so long?”

“Because we’re stupid, clearly. Anyway, I’ll be going back next week, and I told Brienne I’ll try bouldering if she’ll guide me.” 

“And Brienne’s the young lady, I assume. Tyrion… don’t tell me…” Jaime narrows his eyes at his younger brother, recognising the gleam in his eyes. 

“Don’t worry, she’s not quite my taste. The tallest lady I’ve seen, taller than you, probably, and maybe a bit more homely-looking than I’ll like. And she’s young, still in university. But she’s a nice girl, and I don’t know, the people in the gym looked like they were having fun. It’s just round the corner, why not?”

But Jaime’s annoyed - even if Tyrion wasn’t accepting the offer to go bouldering because he wanted to hit on the girl who invited him, it just seemed weird to ask someone like his brother to go climbing, especially since Tyrion definitely wasn’t the type just  _ offering  _ to take part in sports. No, this was definitely some sort of idiotic insult, and Jaime wasn’t having that. 

“Surely brother, you can’t be serious then. She’s… mocking you.” Jaime tries to be gentle with his words, around one of the few people he actually cares about, but there’s no nice way of putting it. He always had to fend off the people who made fun of Tyrion’s dwarfism when he was in school, even if his brother’s sharp tongue often did enough damage to make the others leave him alone. 

“Well, I disagree, but if you really think so, you’re welcome to come with me when I go next Tuesday.” 

“I suppose I will.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve played with the ages a little here. Brienne’s in her final year of university, as are Robb, Jon and Loras, Sansa and Margaery are freshers, Arya's taking her GCSEs which makes her about 16. Tyrion’s in his late twenties, Jaime’s in his mid-thirties.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion and Jaime don't hate working for their father's company, and actually love what they're doing at Lannister Group. Brienne and Jaime meet: and he notices how blue her eyes are, and how she might be stronger than him.

Moving one of their offices south of the river had been Tyrion’s idea. He had a soft spot for the neighbourhood, having stayed in an apartment near the railway arches when studying at King’s. It had been Jaime’s, but his older brother had been too busy taking his long hiking trips and  _ travelling the world  _ to stay too long in one place, and Tyrion happily took over the two-bedder for himself. 

And the many girls who caught his eye at some time or another. But he liked to think that he’d mellowed a little since their father had entrusted, somewhat grudgingly, the retail food and beverage department of Lannister Group to him. It had been just 18 months since the youngest Lannister child took over the F&B sector, but it had flourished under his watch. They had recently invested in two industrial container sites which would make great street food markets all year round, and taken over majority shareholding in several restaurants. 

The farm-to-table, nose-to-tail concept was not new, but Tyrion had the knack for spotting chefs and restaurants with what he called the ‘gleam’. He was especially proud of Riverrun, a small establishment with seating for just 12, it had recently been named the top 50 restaurants in the city despite its rustic style - nothing but the freshest seafood catches from nearby fishing towns with little more than good olive oil, salt, pepper, and herbs. 

But it was helmed by a very special chef. Bronn Blackwater, who had a fiery temper and a sharp tongue, worked best in a small kitchen, and there were weekday nights where he was the only one behind the counter. But everything he touched  _ turned to gold _ . And there was nowhere Tyrion liked to be more on a Tuesday - Riverrun brought in fresh catch on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays - with his brother in tow, of course. 

Jaime had slowly taken interest in Lannister Group’s work after returning from a trip around Japan. He had spent close to a year hiking in spring and summer, snowboarding during the winter season, and volunteering on farms during the autumn. Tywin’s business had expanded its agricultural operations on Jaime’s recommendation, and worked out several partnerships with independent Japanese farmers that now benefited the restaurants that came under their name.

Yet both Tyrion and Jaime were insistent that these individuals who joined the Lannister portfolio should not operate like how a conglomerate would have them. They were given the freedom to retain their organisational structure, but with a much stronger backing than any of them could have expected. 

The Lannister heir had been playful, a bit of dilletante in his younger days, picking up several sports and  _ excelling at all of them _ . He was an accomplished fencer in secondary school, coming out tops in the national Under-14 age group competition, and received several offers from professional football clubs when he turned 16. But Tywin had insisted that he turned them all down. “You are a Lannister, and you are made for bigger things than sport.” 

But he fell in love with hiking while at university, the way the hills rolled in the English countryside despite the inevitable rainy spells, and the chilling winds that left cuts on his handsome face in the height of winter. He spent almost all of his weekends driving to different campsites, living out of a campervan that his father was disgusted with, breathing in the air -  _ it always seemed different out of the city _ . 

One of his favourite hikes was up Pen y Fan in the Brecon Beacons - it was not difficult, he had done several variations of the hike, from a short 2-hour walk to a multi-day loop that started at the edge of the national park. It was nearly always cloudy when he was there, and raining more often than not. But there was something about the Welsh air that always captured him. 

Tywin always said that his indulgence in these trivial pursuits were the reason why he never attained his first in economics.  _ Why does it matter, if you always say that lion doesn’t concern himself with the opinions of sheep?  _

Tyrion always thought that Jaime escaped every weekend to get away from their sister. Cersei was two years older than Jaime, and had always made decisions on his behalf before he moved into a studio apartment when he started at King’s. He picked up fencing because she said it’d make a knight out of him, he learned to snowboard because Cersei insisted that it was  _ only right  _ for them to hit the slopes of the French Alps every winter, started playing the guitar because it was  _ romantic _ . She made him play John Lennon’s hits, but when she wasn’t listening, he always ran his fingers over the riffs over  _ Baby Blue _ .

And Jaime had always indulged her, even after he came into his own at university. Because Cersei was his sweet sister, and she loved him, and he had to take care of her like a brother should. No matter that she took a dislike to any girl that he took an interest in. 

There was a pretty French girl they met one winter at Chamonix, Jolie, who told him that he was beautiful and golden and that their names rhymed. Jaime liked the way she let his name roll off her tongue, her bright blue eyes, her fair hair. But more than anything, she was a good skier, better than he and Cersei were. 

Which is why Jaime refused to believe that she could have fallen and broken her ankle while warming up on a blue slope. Cersei had gotten off the ski lift with her, and Jolie said she’d show her the way down, but she had a terrible accident before the peak season even began. 

They never did meet Jolie again when they returned to Chamonix for the next three seasons. 

\--

“Why are we having lunch at Riverrun today? Don’t you always say Bronn saves his best for the evenings?” Jaime hands his grey suit jacket to one of the waitstaff and unbuttons the top button of his vest as his sits at their usual booth at the corner of the small dining room, eyeing his brother. 

“I told you, we’re going to the bouldering gym tonight. Hence, lunch.” Tyrion picks up a piece of the sourdough and spreads a generous amount of butter on it, smiling gleefully. They’d found a farm that churned their butter to their liking after nearly a full year of testing and searching, and Tyrion made sure that Bronn always had a steady supply of it to go with his favourite breads. 

Jaime was used to Tyrion making plans on his behalf - he didn’t have much of a dating life, most of the girls he took an interest in somehow ended up ghosting him after a couple of nights out, and Jaime was never attracted to them enough to find out why. 

“I guess I’ll meet that young lady that charmed you so.” He narrows his eyes, still convinced that for once, Tyrion has read someone wrong, and subconsciously clenches his right fist. It has been a while since he went for boxing sessions, but he was always up for a sparring. 

“You shall. And we will have some delightful coffee to go with.” 

\-- 

Brienne has Advanced Game Theory lectures on Tuesday afternoons with Robb and Jon - it’s one of the two classes they actually all take together. Dr Rodrick’s a nice enough professor, one of the more engaging lecturers she’s met, but Brienne hasn’t really paid attention to her lectures for a year or so. 

Not that she’s using her laptop for anything else than notes and slides, because she’s too polite to disrespect the professors in that way. But the only mixed strategy that Brienne has in mind is her approach to this  _ particularly tricky slab problem,  _ courtesy of one of the guest setters that Jon met last winter. 

She always sits at the back of the class - the lecture is conducted in a large classroom, but she’d inevitably be blocking someone’s view if she was sitting anywhere but right at the back corner. 

In one of her first classes, she’d eagerly sat closer up front, but all it did was bring her rather unwanted attention. A bunch of boys had started a fresher’s bet, trying to see who could get her notes and her virginity both. 

Edmund Ambrose had bought her tulips, placed them on the table to help her reserve the seat. Richard Farrow had made her a mixtape, asked her what her favourite songs were, taken her to a sold-out Keane gig. Ben Bushy, one of the few boys she’d met who was her height, or maybe even taller, had helped her clean her boots when they had gotten especially dirty after a day of trudging in the wet soil of the parks. 

But Hyle Hunt had been the most convincing of them all. 

He’d sat next to her in every class they had together that first term, brought her to a climbing gym where she could climb lead if she wanted, watched countless bouldering World Cup livestreams with her on her bed. Brought her lunch when she had just a half-hour break between classes, been her partner in acroyoga even though he was a head shorter than her and not strong enough to hold her steady.

She’d liked him - he was one of the few boys to have enjoyed doing the things she liked, and listened to her when she actually had something to say. Hyle was not handsome, but he was a 6.5, and he was kind to her. For Brienne - that seemed like that would be enough. 

And for a while she let herself believe that perhaps she would be one of those people who only really dated one person in her life and that person would be someone she’d be happy to spend the rest of her life with. Hyle was nice enough. 

But Theon had overheard them in the common room of their hall one evening, laughing loudly after having one too many beers. How Hyle had proclaimed that he was “one last trick away from popping the ugly giant bitch’s cherry”. And he had been kind enough not to talk to Robb and Jon about it before he pulled her aside one evening at the gym. 

It was the only time that she had left before completing her shift. To her relief, Theon never spoke about it again, but there was always a kindness in his eyes when they met. 

But Brienne never knew what to say to Hyle about it - it seemed pathetic, to ask why she would be the subject of their awful bet, when it was as plain as day. A girl like her, more man than woman, too tall and too broad and too freckled to ever be considered average-looking. Too awkward to be good conversation, more flustered than demure when she blushed. With hair too brittle to stay in a braid, a nose broken too many times to be straight, teeth too large and lips too thick to ever be  _ looked at twice _ without being mocked. 

Which is why she never said anything at all. She forced herself to ignore them and not say a word the next time any of them tried to get her attention, walked past them in the hallways when they tried to smile in their slimy ways. She spent less time on campus, and more time in the gym - where her eyes were too focussed on the walls and the problems in front of her to wander off to those in her head. 

Renly noticed when Hyle stopped coming to the gym on Fridays - he’d grumbled a couple times about how it was expensive on other days - and when she no longer had random gifts in her hands when she came in for work. 

Margaery noticed how she stopped having to replace the flowers in the vase she left by the kitchen windowsill - it was one of the few spots in the apartment which got a fair bit of natural light. How she’d spend the nights in her room quietly rather than on the phone, how no one came over anymore on weekends or her off days. But they never talked about it, because Brienne never made it seem like a topic that was up for discussion, and they knew it wasn’t right to scale those walls if she didn’t want it so.

Instead, the Tyrell siblings try to fill in the gaps, inviting her to join them when they went to the theatre or the cinema, asking her out for dinner on Friday nights, and to their Sunday lunches with their family since Brienne never travelled back home apart from Christmas. Margaery studies with her at cafes near campus and joins her in the library when papers are almost due, even though she's a fresher and isn't really taking her classes all that seriously. 

Loras asks her to join him for basketball games with some of his friends, because he knows she's good at it and she would play hoops more often if there was a half-decent court closer to where they lived which wasn't permanently occupied by stoners or delinquent children. 

Neither of them knew that she felt worse when Renly started coming over to their apartment more often, sometimes with her at the end of her shifts. But it was never her room that he would spend time in, not her he would speak to for hours on end. 

It was Loras’ t-shirts that he started to wear, Loras’ sweatpants that he threw atop his tight boxer briefs when it got cold. He would make breakfast for four but carry two portions with him back into the room. And if Brienne’s music was turned off she’d hear them laughing,  _ wrestling  _ sometimes. 

She was happy for them, of course she was, Loras was becoming a brother to her and Renly had always been nothing but kind. But it only made her feel sillier, for liking someone she could never have, and for ever wishing that she’d have anyone at all. Eventually she came back to the same conclusion that one of her neighbours had come to when she was but a child: that some girls were not made for romance, not for love.

And she was okay with that. She really was. 

\--

“Jaime, I want you to promise me one thing.” “What?” 

“That you won’t get angry when you’re not good at climbing.” 

“What? That’s ridiculous, I’m sure it’s not that hard.” 

Tyrion laughs, because he’s been waiting for a long time to see his brother struggle at a sport - and even though he knows deep down that Jaime will probably excel at it, just as he has with anything remotely athletic, he’s hoping that for once, his handsome brother would make a fool of himself for a change. The world has to be fair once in a while, doesn’t it? 

They walk to the Stark gym, just two minutes from their office, and even though it’s past eight and he’s not in need of any perking up, the smell of coffee brewing makes Tyrion’s caffeine itch grow. 

He pushes the door open, and peers around quickly - Brienne’s not behind the counter as she was before, and he doesn’t see a very tall girl anywhere in the small crowd. 

“Hi! Is it your first time here?” Sansa looks at them with a bright smile, and has two clipboards in her hands. 

“Ah, yes it is. Is Brienne around? She…” Tyrion starts, but pauses when he sees the familiar figure on one of the overhangs. She’s making light work of the route, powering through the moves which definitely look beyond his wingspan, placing her right heel precisely against a foothold which does not look as secure as she makes it seem. 

A grin spreads across his face as he glances at Jaime, and as he expected, his brother is impressed. He’s always had an appreciation for people who were good at their craft. 

“Sorry, if you don’t mind, perhaps you could fill in these forms, they’re waivers in case of injuries and whatnot, I’ll just give you some time to look through them. I’ll get Brienne over.” She hands them a clipboard each, and Tyrion quickly peers at the small print. 

“So, that’s Brienne? The tall blonde with short hair?”

“That’s right. Man, she looks better than I thought she’d be at this. And bouldering looks impossibly hard… maybe this wasn’t the best idea. This form basically says that if anything happens to us in here, broken arm or leg or neck, has nothing to do with the gym.”

“That’s why it’s a waiver, isn’t it. And you’re not chickening out of this - it’s too late for that.”

They quickly sign the forms and are handed a pair of rental shoes each - Tyrion’s are kid-sized, and Jaime looks at the worn pair he’s given with a look of disgust. He’s never been a fan of rental gear, but shoes are definitely the most awful thing to share with strangers. But there’s no choice, and he puts them on grudgingly. The next time he’s here, he’ll be wearing a pair of shoes that only his smelly feet have been in. 

The younger Lannister is glad when Sansa tells him that no, the espresso machine hasn't been cleaned for the day yet, and  _yes_ , she can make him a flat white. She doesn't know her beans and roasts as well as Brienne does, but the cheerful redhead is gorgeous in the way that Tyrion has always been attracted to. 

Jaime realises this, and pokes him in the ribs when she looks for a handful of change. "She's just a child!" "I'm just appreciating beauty, dear brother."

Brienne looks surprised when she sees Tyrion in his shorts and a t-shirt, she thought that he had just been polite when he said he’d come, but the Lannister was true to his word. 

And standing near him… is an impossibly handsome man who looks like one of the typical corporate types that come in on weekends, with their fancy sport coats and talk too loudly. He definitely works out - his skin is tanned, his limbs are lean but muscled, probably more cardio and contact sports than just pure lifting.  _ Well, at least he’s not a meathead. _ But she turns back to the shorter man, who looks a little uncomfortable in the snug shoes.

“Hello, Tyrion. Glad to see you here, shall I give you a little tour?” She nods politely at Jaime, not realising that they came together. 

“Before the tour, could we have a word, Brienne?” Jaime intercepts, his green eyes cold and piercing. Tyrion tries to nudge him, but he ignores his younger brother as he leads her towards the door. 

“I don’t know what your intentions are, suggesting that my brother try bouldering - he doesn’t think that you’re trying to mock of him or anything, but if I find out that you’re making a fool of my brother, I don’t draw the line at hitting a lady.” He keeps his voice low and serious, and Brienne can’t decide if she’s annoyed at him for suggesting that she’d do something quite so despicable or impressed by how protective he is of his adult brother. 

“Well, Mr Lannister, I assure you that I just wanted to invite Tyrion to give it a go. I think you’ll find that climbing is quite an inclusive sport, and he seems open to the idea. If anything, I think he’d be rather good at it.” She gestures to a chubby kid on one of the vertical walls, who looks more confident than most pudgy children are, and the boy is actually pretty good, because the route doesn’t look like one for a beginner. 

Maybe his brother was right, and Jaime was just too used to people finding ways to poke fun at Tyrion for being a dwarf, as though that was something he had chosen or something to be faulted for. 

He notices the earnestness that Brienne speaks with, and how she has brilliant blue eyes that seem to be sparkling in the brightly-lit gym. She’s taller than him, maybe an inch, and her shoulders are definitely broader, her forearms are disproportionately large and she looks strong.  _ She might be stronger than I am.  _

He keeps his mouth shut as she brings them around the different walls, doesn’t interject when she asks Tyrion to do some jumping jacks as a warm-up before they start climbing proper. Even though jumping jacks was exactly what made his brother cry as a six-year-old, when one of the largest boys in Tyrion’s class told him that he shouldn’t bother jumping at all because he was barely getting off the ground. 

Jaime can’t help but notice how graceful she is, despite all 6 foot 3 of her, when she’s climbing the routes. Granted, they are easy routes, but she demonstrates the basic footwork and flagging almost like she’s dancing on water. 

It’s not long before she asks Tyrion to give it a go too, and Jaime can’t help but grin when he realises that his brother may have found a sport he isn’t disadvantaged at. 

Plus, it helps when Jaime makes light work of the routes that she has him try, and when she agrees that he is probably a natural, and did he do gymnastics at any point? He doesn’t tell her that he did, because Cersei was picked to join the team at their prep school and he  _ needed  _ to join it too. 

Instead, he meets her pretty blue eyes and says: “Give me two months, maybe I’d be better than you, wench.”    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter might have felt a little slow, but isn't the best part always the build-up? I'll be trying to bring in Arya a bit more next chapter, and also the other Stark siblings. Let me know what you think of these two chapters so far, happy week ahead!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne tells Jaime about home, about Pembrokeshire and the sea, and Jaime tells her that her eyes remind him of the fortnight he spent walking around the coastal cliffs, and that he trusts her. Also, Arya and Jaime hit it off.

Jaime is surprised by how much he likes bouldering - it has always been  _ there _ , he had seen plenty of people climbing in the Peak District when he went on his camping trips, and plenty of the hiking folks in his university days had been into sport climbing as well. But he had always pegged himself as someone to wander off on his feet rather than grind at a problem to solve, and the thought of squeezing his long feet into snug, form-fitting shoes wasn’t that much of a delight. 

But he realises that he does enjoy solving the problems on the walls, and he finds himself watching videos and films of the sport - his feet get sweaty as he watches Alex Honnold free solo El Cap, and his palms are clammy whenever he hears Adam Ondra’s squalls on his lead attempts. After being back for the third evening that week, and watching Robb and Jon crimp their way up impossibly small holds on a vertical wall, Jaime decides that this is something he does want to be good at. 

And whenever he’s thought that way, he’s been rather decent. And he knows he could be pretty decent at climbing too, even though he’s very nearly 35 and these boys are, well, just boys. 

On his fifth visit to the gym, a Sunday morning at 6am just as the gym opens, he finally asks Brienne for a coffee. 

“Any preference for beans?” She smiles a little, and she doesn’t ask where Tyrion is because they’re closer friends these days and she knows that the smaller Lannister would have had a very busy Saturday night. 

“Nah, whichever makes a better flat white will be my choice. Thanks, wench.” He grins at her, as she flinches ever-so-slightly at the nickname, but it sticks.  _ It fits _ , he thinks. 

He hasn’t been to the gym near his flat much since he started going to the gym. His forearms are aching most days, unused to being strained this much, but it’s Jaime’s favourite kind of dull ache, almost like a bruise on the verge of turning purple. 

He realises that he doesn’t really miss it, the climbing gym tends have the smell of stale air whenever he comes in the evenings, but it still feels more refreshing than staring at walls of weights and rows of machines. He still goes in for the occasional recovery jog or cycle, and does some rowing for a little cardio, but he finds himself eschewing the lifting for more bodyweight work. He returns to his yoga routine, just to stretch out his tight muscles, and he notices that even in a week, his body feels different. Lighter, less weary, even though he’s spending a good three hours climbing after a long day at work. 

Brienne sets a mug in front of him, and he can’t help but inhale the coffee fragrance slowly as he lifts it for a sip. And it’s good, it’s smooth and the beans were roasted medium-light, not like the over-roasted stuff that most cafes tended to do with their espresso drinks. She can tell from his softening gaze that he likes it, and she barely hides a laugh as she cleans the counter and espresso machine. 

“You know, if you’re going to come in so often, you should really think about a pass, and your own shoes. These rentals are pretty grimy,” she admits. 

“I was thinking about getting a six-month pass, actually. And any shoes you’d recommend?” He quickly finishes his coffee, and turns around to look at the small selection of shoes that the Stark gym sells. 

“Hmm… you’ve not been climbing for long but I’d think you should get some intermediate shoes, the soles are a little thinner than the rentals, so they will wear out quicker if you have sloppy footwork, but it’s an incentive to have good feet as well. Perhaps this pair.” She picks up an orange pair, they’re flat, but he’s watched enough videos to recognise them as a pair recommended for a good balance of comfort and performance. 

She looks at his feet for a moment, and cocks her head slightly as she guesses his size, bringing him a pair from the storeroom in EU42. 

“Wench, I can barely fit into EU43 in dress shoes.” 

“Well, do you trust me? They’ll fit.” She meets his eyes, almost accusing at this point, but her  _ brilliant blue eyes  _ are sparkling and deflecting the daggers he shoots. He huffs a little, but sits on the mat as he tries to put one on. And then the other. 

And she knows they’re a perfect fit when he doesn’t complain immediately. He walks around on the thick mats gingerly, wincing a little as he gets used to the snugness - it isn’t often that he has had his toes curled slightly in his footwear, but he knows this is how they’re meant to fit. She was right.  _ And he does trust her,  _ he thinks. 

“Go on, you can try them on a route or two, see how they feel.” 

He tries an easy route on a vertical wall, and it’s nice to actually feel the footholds under his toes, and he feels himself being lighter on his feet with these shoes instead of the lumbering, slippery rubber of the rentals. She gestures towards one of the overhanging routes, which Jaime has easily powered through with his strong arms and back muscles previously. 

“This time, try pushing through with your feet and just reaching out with your arms, rather than muscling into a pull-up to the next hold,” she speaks softly, but it’s just them in the gym and he can hear her murmur perfectly. He tries it, and it’s not as instinctive as his previous attempt had been, but he finds himself twisting into each move more, bringing his hips closer to the walls, and actually placing his feet carefully on the holds and not dragging them against the walls at all, and she smiles proudly when he lands softly on the mat. 

“That was really nice, Jaime.” “Thank you,  _ Brienne. _ ”

She goes back to tidying up the counters, sweeping the floors and checking the lockers to make sure they’re clean, and Jaime wears his new shoes as he bounds over to check out some of the slabs. 

Before long, he’s no longer the only one in the gym. A small, dark-haired girl with broad shoulders and disproportionately large forearms for her size bounds in with Mrs Stark, looking too cheery for a teenager this early on a Sunday. She looks surprised when she realises she’s not the earliest in the gym, and her mother meets his gaze with a polite smile. 

He walks over to greet her,  _ he has some manners _ , even though he knows the Starks were a little annoyed at how their rent has gone up since Lannister Group moved into the building. 

“Hello, Mr Lannister.” Catelyn Stark’s tone is curt, but not too unfriendly, and her daughter simply ignores them as she trudges to the warm-up area with a worn-looking pair of climbing shoes swinging from her left hand and a chalk bag from her right. 

“Please, call me Jaime. I’m just one of the people in your climbing gym on a Sunday morning.” 

“Robb was telling me you’re becoming a bit of a regular here.” 

“I am, aren’t I? I just bought a six-month pass, Tyrion dragged me here earlier this week, but I think I do enjoy it enough to come back. And from all accounts, this is a really nice gym, plus, it’s convenient for me. That must be... Arya?” He vaguely remembers Sansa mentioning her younger sister once or twice. 

“Yes, my younger daughter, although she rarely acts like one.” They look over at Arya skipping rope, before she moves on to do some deep stretching, and for a moment, Jaime is reminded of a time he was dedicated to becoming a true sportsman and a fine fencer in his own right. He recognises that hunger in the young Stark girl, her eyes gleaming with desire and how earnestly she goes through her warm-ups, not simply going through the motions. 

“She must really love climbing, huh.” He says it as a statement, and Catelyn is surprised. She’d dealt with Tywin Lannister a couple times, especially when he bought over her and Ned’s previous business - they had been engineers by training and Lannister Group had knowingly lowballed them during the economic crisis, knowing that they were likely to sell their firm at a cut-price because it was simply costing them too much to keep up with operations - but Jaime doesn’t seem anything like his father. He’s got the same green eyes, same sharp jaw, but his voice is softer, and nowhere near as direct and cut-throat as his father. But of course, no one ever made a business like Lannister Group by being anything but swift and firm. 

“She does. Wants to join the national team for a training camp this Easter, but she’s sitting for her GCSEs this year, and you know. It’s hard to make climbing a career, even though it’s gaining in popularity and we run these gyms, and I just don’t want her to make a decision that she can’t come back from, you know.” She finds herself speaking more honestly than she thought she’d be with a Lannister, and she realises she’s being silly, because Jaime isn’t a parent, he wouldn’t understand her struggles as a mother, but he’s nodding his head slightly in agreement. 

“Only the very best make it. Do you think she has a shot, at becoming really good?” 

“She’s disciplined enough, and they’re giving her an opportunity to see if she belongs in that world. It’s still early days.” 

They look back at Arya, who’s now traversing on the lower walls at the back, placing her feet very carefully against the smallest holds, and closing her eyes as she forces herself to feel the footholds rather than rely on her sight. 

“Looks to me like she really wants it.” 

He’s impressed by the child, he really is. She shows him the beta for a couple of routes he couldn’t figure out on Friday, and even suggests variations for ‘tall people’, since she has fashioned up moves most suited to her small, but dynamic and powerful frame. 

She tells him that he should have started climbing earlier, he could have been really, really good, “better than Robb and definitely Jon”. Jaime’s lean and wiry, with a “nice wingspan” as Arya terms it, and he’s competitive - trying to match her on some of the powerful routes because he’s  _ strong  _ enough and impresses her when he sticks some of the hard dynos that even Jon and Theon have had to have multiple goes at. 

He moves with a fluidity that doesn’t seem like he’s 35, and he grimaces slightly when she reminds him that she’s nearly two decades younger than him. But he likes the child, he thinks, she reminds him of how he’d been when he wanted to be an Olympic fencer, except she’s much more dedicated to her craft and probably much closer to her dream than he could ever have hoped to be to his. 

“Funny how I’ve not seen you here all week, Arya.” He doesn’t call her by anything but her name, because the one time he slips to “child” she shoots him a dirty look that somehow  _ terrifies  _ him. 

“I have to go to school, and Mum makes me do my homework in the evenings. I come in the mornings, 6am, before the gym opens, Robb or Jon comes with me sometimes, if they’re working the early shift, but usually it’s just Mum and me. Renly used to come in more often, but Mum has him managing the one of the gyms near Islington in the mornings now, so he’s only free to come Wednesday and Friday evenings. It’s a bit of a shame, Renly used to be one of my climbing buddies, and he’s good.” 

“Well, I could be your new morning climbing buddy, you know.” 

“If you get good enough, I’ll think about it, old man.” 

\--

Tyrion tries not to spend more than one day a week working on things related to Lannister Airways. While it is the backbone of the company, and clearly his father’s baby, it also means working too closely and too often with Cersei, and he would much rather fly in economy a thousand times over with a screaming baby. 

Their father had always tried to get Jaime to be more interested in their airline arm - he’d only taken his older son to the airshows when they were children, had bought Jaime model airplanes and actually taken the time to fix one of them with him, and tried to convince him that aerospace engineering was something he should seriously consider as a career. He had always seen Jaime as the heir to Lannister Group, and of course the heir should be invested in their golden goose, but the older Lannister boy had never been one for planes. Sure, he rather liked flying in A350s and absolutely hated how it felt to be sitting on the lower deck of a A380, and enjoyed the quiet flights of the new B777s, but there just wasn’t much of a spark whenever he thought about how the airline could be more than what it was. 

With Jaime pretty much dedicating himself to their agricultural and farming operations, and showing some interest in their F&B retail sector now that Tyrion was expanding it, Cersei had easily stepped into prime position in Lannister Airways, taking up the chief operations responsibilities, and by doing so, setting herself up for taking over Tywin when he finally decided to step down. 

Every Christmas, Tywin would take Jaime aside, and try a different spiel to sell him on the airline and how he needed to care more about Lannister Group beyond its agriculture operations because it would all be his to tend to one day, but his darling golden lion rarely gave him the time of day. 

A few winters, Jaime had brought girls home with him, but he realised that Christmas with the Lannisters was basically a kiss of death - none of his flings,  _ and they were flings  _ if he was honest with himself, ever lasted a week into the new year. 

Tyrion knows it was Cersei who made sure of that - even if she was dating Robert Baratheon, and even after they were married in the most lavish wedding that the entire Westeros had seen save for the royals’, she still gave every girlfriend of Jaime’s the evil eye, a short chat, and a curt wave goodbye. But he never saw the point of telling Jaime about it - mostly because he knew Jaime wasn’t serious about them anyway, and perhaps one day, if it mattered, he would say something.  _ Not today _ . 

\-- 

Brienne’s at the gym a lot more often as the end of term draws closer - he figures that she’s skipping out on some classes, and she sheepishly admits that she’s already attended and fulfilled the 70% attendance rate for her tutorials, and there’s no point in going for the rest. 

Jaime finds himself climbing with her a lot more than he expected to, mostly because Robb and Jon are often in as well and he knows they are close. There are occasions where she actually asks him to give some of her new sets a go, and asks him for his opinion on them, like what a newbie like him thinks of the routes actually plays a part in this sort-of permanence. 

There is one time when she sets a slab, and asks him to give it a go. Slabs are the walls that he feels least comfortable on, it’s where he can’t really rely on his strength and power as much, and finds himself focusing a lot more on where he’s placing his feet. He feels nervous about how the wall leans in, and how much contact he’d make if he were to slip, and there’s a lot more trusting in his toes than he feels comfortable with. This particular route has puny footholds, and he wants to complain that there’s no way his large feet are really made for small holds like these, and it’s not  _ fair,  _ but he’s already seen her complete the route  _ too easily  _ even with her EU43 feet. 

She coaches him through the route, but holds back when she knows he has figured out a move and is just trying to coax his body into doing it, and he realises that she’s a natural teacher, just as how she has made quite a competent climber out of his younger brother. Tyrion likes it enough to come once a week, and wrinkles his nose at how often Jaime smells like chalk and sweaty feet, but he sees how his brother’s eyes are more emerald than grass these days, and doesn’t say anything about it. 

In between climbs, they sometimes talk about life before. She learns that his family grew up in London, sort of, but they have homes across the UK, and lived in New York for a while when Tywin was trying to promote Lannister Airways’ transatlantic routes. He admits that his favourite home is still London, even though he doesn’t really think he’s made for the city, and how he really did like living in Sheffield for the eight months they were there even though it rained an awful lot. There were lots of sheep and lots of hills, he says, and she laughs, a real, hearty laugh, when he tells her about how he always smelled of sheep poo because he always forgot to look where he was leaping into as a boy. 

He learns that she grew up near Pembrokeshire, and used to walk around the coastal cliffs every evening before dinner, just to breathe in the salty air and remember how many times the waves would wash away the rocks she left on the sand. She talks briefly about her brother, and how Galladon was one of the funniest people she knew, but stops abruptly at Galladon as a teenager. He doesn’t ask further, because it’s not his place to. 

“Do you miss it?” “Pembrokeshire?” She pauses, and looks wistfully at the wall in front of them, with the blue painted walls, slightly textured for smearing yet too slippery to be reliant on them fully. 

“It’s hard not to. To miss home - or maybe all the memories of home, of being a child. It’s different here, even if I love London, and live with Margaery and Loras, and they’re lovely, but it’s different, you know. There’s no open sea, no fresh flowers in the spring, there’s even not as much rain.” Her eyes grow distant, and all Jaime can think about is how the blue of her eyes are even more intense than the beautiful sapphire seas around Pembrokeshire’s coast. 

“I spent two weeks hiking around the coast after my second year of university,” he tells her, and she looks slightly surprised. It’s popular, but not popular enough for many to spend two weeks of a beautiful summer at, especially not for a Lannister, where there are so many other places where they could venture, endlessly. 

“It was nice, quiet, and I stayed in my car most nights, but I remember there was a very nice pub which brewed their own beer, and they’d asked me to stay the night when it stormed badly one evening. Has anyone ever told you how your eyes look like the Pembroke waters?” He says the last sentence as though it’s the most normal thing to, but Brienne flinches - she’s not used to someone saying words like these, soft praise, but just in the way that Jaime does, it’s gentle and drawing her blinds apart. 

She smiles, and gets up to give the route she’s been working on another go.

\--

“The handsome Lannister, the tall one, he’s been at the gym an awful lot, hasn’t he? Seems like every time I pop by he’s there, and it always looks like he’s been there a while.” Margaery slumps on a beanbag in their department’s common room, while Sansa sits cross-legged in front of a coffee table, her laptop open in front of her. 

“Arya says that he’s a natural, and he’s learning fast. Well, looking the way he is, I’m not surprised he’s good, but you’d think someone in their mid-thirties with a successful career would be spending his weekday nights elsewhere.” 

“Like in a pub, or a cocktail bar, with a lady waiting to join him in bed?” Margaery sips her iced tea playfully as Sansa rolls her eyes. 

“I’m serious. Isn’t it weird, I’d think it rather strange if Robb or Jon or even Theon were to spend that much time climbing or just doing a singular activity on their weekday nights, after working a whole day, night after night. Do you reckon he’s gay, straight, or bi?” 

“He’s definitely not gay. We used to have some Christmas and New Year parties at the Lannisters’ some years ago, before Cersei and her husband started having  _ troubles _ . Jaime always had a date, a pretty girl, usually blond and beautiful, and he would be sweet and really attentive. But then there was this year when Cersei just went ballistic and poured vinegar into Robert’s whisky and he just lost it, and if it wasn’t so chaotic it would have been pretty funny, because he absolutely exploded and went nuts on her too.” 

They’re not the only ones who notice that Jaime is fast becoming the most regular visitor to the gym, and he makes his six-month pass an absolute steal. He starts coming in the mornings, before going to work at nine, and sometimes comes in for a shorter session in the evenings as well. On Fridays, when they all have a fun session together, he’s usually there as well, not quite joining them but usually just hanging around because Arya does enjoy climbing with him. 

The unlikely duo have become climbing buddies of sorts, now that he’s pretty much the person that climbs most often with her, and it’s nice to have someone else’s opinion on the routes that she struggles to find a solve for. In return, she helps him with his footwork and builds his confidence on the slabs, and he resolves to complete all the slabby routes that Brienne’s set, just because. 

Robb and Jon are still a little distant from Jaime, rarely making conversation and usually keeping it at small talk, because he’s a Lannister after all. Jon knows that their rent has gone up since the Lannisters moved into the building, and he has never been one to like all the large conglomerates and their monopolisation of all things good. 

His cousin is annoyed that Jaime is good, and improving quickly, and how he managed to stick this one dyno that Robb took two weeks to really get comfortable with. But Jaime couldn’t make the subsequent move, which requires a twist, drop knee, and a very precise left foot on something that’s barely bigger than a pebble, and Jaime hasn’t quite gotten to a point where he can execute all that smoothly after the adrenaline pump. 

But Jon has sort of hit it off with Tyrion, enjoying the little man’s humour and brashness - even if it’s a little distasteful on occasion. He appreciates that the younger Lannister enjoys his coffees, and bothers to understand their origins and quirks, and he reckons that a person who really takes effort in knowing his coffee can’t be that awful, and he’d like to be right about that. 

Loras and Renly try to convince the Stark cousins that Jaime’s not like the other Lannisters, or at least, he’s nothing like Cersei. If anything, Jaime’s a puppy, Renly reckons, a little too floppy to be a good CEO one day, but he’s always been kind and not awful to deal with. 

\-- 

They become good enough friends that Brienne doesn’t pause before agreeing to have lunch with him. Tyrion picks the place, because he’s the food expert, and also because it’s Tuesday and if there’s a spot that Tyrion would like to go to on Tuesdays, it’s just Riverrun. 

He knows that if he’d asked her for dinner she’d have hesitated, since she basically takes all the afternoon and evening shifts these days, and he asks her why she does so many shifts when she doesn’t really have to. 

“I don’t really have much else to do now that school’s almost over,” she admits, somewhat embarrassed by her utter lack of a social life. 

And so she agrees when Tyrion says he’d like to invite her to join him at some coffee tastings in the upcoming weeks, because he’s trying to decide on a plantation to commit to, and he trusts her palate enough. She also says yes to visiting this small weekend market with him on Sunday before she goes to work at noon, because there’s a cured meat stall that supposedly does a fantastic pig’s head, but you have to be there at 8am or it’ll be all sold out before you could even get a peek at it. 

She sort of gets why Tyrion’s all quick wit and sharp quip, when he tells about how his family and how his father and Cersei had been cold to him his entire childhood after his mother died shortly after giving birth to him. Complications from the natural birth, and partly because she had always had a weak constitution, and he breezes through it as though it doesn’t bother him, but Brienne guesses that the lack of a female figure in his life might be the reason why he’s always seeking some fair company. 

He tells her that Jaime is about the only person in his family that he can stand, and the only Lannister that really cares about him in turn. And how Jaime had always been his knight in shining armour, poking the awful boys in primary school with his foil when they had tried to make Tyrion perform some silly tricks they’d seen on the circus TV shows, and beating up this teenager when he told Tyrion that dwarves always killed their mothers. 

Tyrion doesn’t hide the fact that he had really believed the youth, but also very explicitly states that he was just six and stupid. 

It doesn’t stop Brienne from feeling a pang of sadness - she knows how it feels like to be teased mercilessly for her looks, and imagines it was just as bad, or perhaps even worse for Tyrion. At the very least, she could always hide her face and pretend she wasn’t as ugly as she was, but there wasn’t really much hiding your physical size in a classroom, or in a gym class. 

Tyrion coaxes the Hyle Hunt story out of her while they have dessert - a delicate milk pudding and a pistachio crisp that smells of freshly roasted nuts. He looks furious on her behalf, and asks for the companies that she knows the man has applied to, and she’s touched when he actually makes a real note of it. Hyle wants to go into investment banking, as most of them do, and she imagines Tyrion has all of the contacts that he’d give a leg for. 

She doesn’t ask her new good friend what he plans to do with that information, she doesn’t really want to know, anyway. Instead, she settles for the story of how Jaime dived into the sea to save Tyrion when Cersei had tricked him into thinking that wading into the waters would help him hear their mother’s voice. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I'll really keep up with this updating-every-two-days, but it's a lot of fun writing this and I hope it's fun reading for you too. I've made Tyrion hold his tongue a little more, but the smartest ones always do, don't they? 
> 
> Next chapter: Jaime and Tyrion babysit Myrcella and Tommen while Cersei's off somewhere.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime wants to help the youngins fulfill their dreams.

Jaime hears a familiar voice yelling when he opens the door to the gym - along with the familiar mustiness from all the sweaty bodies that have been in this space, mixed with the air of stale chalk. 

“I have to tell them by tomorrow if I want to keep my spot, Mum, why won’t you just let me go? It’s fully sponsored, we’re going to be housed in an accommodation with actual caretakers and caterers, and it’s in Font. I haven’t been to Font in two summers!” 

Arya sounds almost hysterical, and he sees her pleading with Catelyn at the corner of the gym, her teenage voice almost squealing from her frustration. 

He sees Brienne sitting on a bench behind the counter, trying to be inconspicuous despite all six feet and three inches of her, and she shoots him a look that is almost  _ begging  _ him to be quiet. Jaime smothers a laugh, because her hair is sticking up weirdly with a tuft on the left side, probably from wearing her bike helmet, and a gleam flickers over his eyes as he slides behind the counter to join her. 

He opens his mouth to say hi, but she slaps her palm over his lips quickly, just as Catelyn replies in a low and stern voice: “You’re not going, and that’s final.” 

Jaime hasn’t realised how soft Brienne’s palms are, despite her heavy climbing - there are calluses that graze the base of her fingers and on the backs of her knuckles, but her palms are actually smooth - and they rest now, on his slightly chapped lips. It’s an odd feeling - he hasn’t been touched on his lips for a long time, not since the last girl he dated,  _ has it been nearly three years now?  _

His thoughts are interrupted when Brienne nudges him not-so-subtly as Catelyn walks towards them, a questioning look on her face, but she doesn’t say anything as she walks into the small room which she calls her office, but is really where they stock most of their merchandise. 

Jaime stands up quickly, and catches Arya’s eye just as he does so. The stocky teenager is sitting on the mats, red-faced and teary. He’s gotten to know the child better over the couple of weeks, in between their climbs. It helps that he sees a lot of himself in her, and she recognises that he knows it too. She asks him about the times he considered taking sports more seriously, and he hesitates a little when he tells her about how much he hated Tywin for taking those dreams away from him. He knows that Catelyn doesn’t detest Arya’s interest in climbing like his father did for all the things that Jaime loved - everything that wasn’t Lannister Group - and he doesn’t want the girl and her mother to have the same estranged relationship that he has settled into with his father. 

But Jaime is as honest with her as he can be with a 16-year-old, a teenager that is nothing like the only other child that age that he knows. 

“Your mother only wants the best for you, you know.” He plops down on the mats next to her, and hands her his towel - a soft rectangle of Egyptian cotton that Arya laughs at when she touches it because no one  _ seriously  _ uses something like that for sports. 

“She doesn’t think I’m good enough to give it a crack.” The Stark girl is sullen, more frustrated at the belief that her mother doesn’t have  _ faith in her ability _ than angry at the older lady herself. 

“That’s not true. She knows you’re good, she just… doesn’t want to give you false hopes that this will be it. Few make it, and she wants to see you be one of them, but she also wants you to be strong enough to put your heart to something else if this doesn’t turn out to be your lot in life.”

“I’ll prove it to her. I’ll work hard, I always have.” Arya’s shoulders are squared, a steely gaze in her dark eyes, and Jaime knows the girl means what she says. 

“And you will, wherever the camp is. Trust me.” He pats her shoulder lightly, silently telling her that he’ll handle it, even though they haven’t been  _ friends  _ for all that long and Catelyn doesn’t think very highly of him despite her courtesy. He is a Lannister, after all. 

But Jaime wants more than anything - at this point - to help Arya get a fighting chance at the biggest dream she has known all her life. 

He remembers being a 14-year-old, scouted by Sir Arthur Dayne, one of the best fencing coaches in the country, so fine with his foil that he was knighted after winning three consecutive golds at the Olympics. He remembers how star-struck he was when one of his father’s assistants told him that Sir Arthur Dayne was at their door, and how he wanted to have a chat with Tywin Lannister about taking his son,  _ Tywin’s heir _ , under his wing. 

There was nothing Jaime wanted more in the world then. But Tywin had cut the conversation short, saying there was no way Jaime was quitting his prestigious private school to train full-time and how a tutor would never be able to hone his business acumen.  _ Well, so much for that now.  _

It was not only the end of Jaime’s Olympic dreams, it was also the end of his fencing career - Tywin had suspended all his lessons, banned him from taking up his foil again, and made sure that no teacher would dare register him for any tournament again. For all the records that he had taken pride in breaking as a child, there were no more that he would have a crack at. 

He had felt crippled then, suddenly without a blade to wield, and poured all of his heart into football, knowing that there had always been scouts at some of his games when he played for the school’s league team, mostly for his classmate Addam, who turned out to be a fine goalkeeper with a solid career with top-flight teams, but there were clips of him, too. But when Leeds came knocking after his sixteenth birthday, Tywin sent them away - Jaime had wanted so much to wear that pristine white kit, having grown up as an ardent fan who could only listen to the matches on radio because football games were too rowdy for a boy of his stature and the older Lannister loathed the idea of letting his son attend them. 

Brienne tries to hold him back as Jaime knocks lightly on the door of Catelyn’s office, tells him, “Not now, not when she’s closed the door.” But Jaime shakes off her warm hand on his forearm, and nods as if to tell her he’s got this, and enters the small space to speak with the lady of the house. 

“Mr Lannister, I don’t believe you have any business being here.” 

“I’m Jaime, and I’m here about Arya.” 

“My daughter’s well-being is hardly your business.”

“It isn’t. But it is yours, and she is my friend.” He pauses, and meets her softening gaze, and he knows she’s willing to relent, how much she wants to help her daughter fulfill her dream, she wouldn’t have been taking Arya to the gym every morning at the crack of dawn if she didn’t believe in her daughter’s talent and hard work. 

“She deserves a chance at this, even if it’s a small chance. It’s a training camp. So what if it doesn’t turn out well, if she doesn’t make the team? At least she would have had a shot at it, and she will learn from it, grow from it, be a better person out of it all. She’s worked hard for this opportunity, and it doesn’t seem fair to take that away from her.” He swallows audibly as he finishes his sentence, and clasps his hands together as he takes a seat on the foldable chair opposite Catelyn. 

“It’s easy for you to say, Jaime. You’re not the one who has to break the news to her when there’s no more training camps to attend, no more jerseys to receive in the mail, no competitions to register for.”  _ You’re not the one who has to stitch her hopes back together when her dreams are shattered by reality _ . She doesn’t have to say it, but he knows it comes to one thing: You are not her mother. 

Jaime had hardly known his own mother, has barely a sense of the otherworldliness of a mother’s love, not when the only mother he knows intimately is his sister. No, Cersei was more of a dictator than a mother, only paying attention to her children when they fit into her plans, and leaving them to their tutors and caretakers otherwise. His own mother had died shortly after Tyrion was born, and Jaime was still a young child, told that his mother had gone somewhere  _ far away _ , and he would never see her again.

“You’re right, I’m not. But I’m also not the person who can give her the courage and strength to stand up after disappointment, I’m not the one who will help her realise that nothing comes easy but it doesn’t mean that it’s not worth fighting for.” 

\--

Catelyn eventually relents and tells Arya that she will get to join the national squad for the next six months, or until they stop inviting her to their sessions. But it’s not Jaime who swings the vote, it’s Robb. 

Robb tells their mother that Arya’s not just living her dream, but all of theirs - she’s the only one good enough to get this far and it almost seems as though she’d be forsaking the Gods if she were to let it slip by. 

It’s Robb who reminds Catelyn that Arya has been waking up at 5am since she was nine, every single day, without a word of complaint. Whether it has been to go to the climbing gym, or to the weights room, or just to get a recovery run in, his younger sister has never said that she  _ doesn’t want to,  _ she has always taken every chance to be as good as she could be, and it doesn’t seem  _ right _ , if they were to hold her back just as she was getting close. 

Robb promises, and ropes Jon into his plan, that he will help Arya with the GCSEs, personally tutor her through all her missed classes and homework, and make sure that she puts in effort with them as well. The Stark cousin agrees, because Arya’s more of a sister to him, and Robb’s right - she’s making all of their dreams a reality. 

He all about guarantees that he will convince Arya to take her A Levels when they come, and go to university after that, because she should have a proper education fitting of her smarts. And Catelyn relents, with the reluctance that only a mother can have, borne out of the love for her child, and tries to ignore all the ways she fears this could go wrong. 

But it is Jaime that Arya tells about her fears. 

She doesn’t want to make her mother worry, she just promises Catelyn that she will give it her all for six months, and if it really doesn’t pan out, she won’t be disappointed, and she won’t just give up on climbing because it is so much of her life, she’ll just put her energies into different ways. 

But Arya tells Jaime of how she has dreamed about podium finishes at the World Cups, in Tokyo, Chongqing, Munich, Innsbruck, all these faraway places she wouldn’t visit otherwise. About how she wants so badly to be there, but knows she doesn’t have more than a one in ten shot at. 

How she doesn’t want to disappoint her parents, her brothers, her family if she turns out to be  _ not good enough _ . 

Jaime tells her there’s no point in thinking about the what ifs. “It’s the now that matters.” 

\--

Brienne’s sitting in her room and reading through her notes from one of the lectures that week - her notes are neat and organised, but they make little sense. She was distracted in that Economic History class, her mind hasn’t really been in any of them, and she mentally curses her past self as she struggles to cobble together a coherent essay plan for her term submission. 

She hears a rich tenor voice coming from the hallway that is distinctly Renly, and then an excited squeal that can only be Margaery. 

She tries to ignore the chatter outside, but she’s already distracted. Saving the document, Brienne shuts her laptop as she pokes her head out into the hallway, and sees Loras looking brightly at her. 

“Hey, Brienne. We’ve got some news.” 

The fact that he says  _ we  _ instead of  _ I  _ isn’t lost on her, she’s sort of started to see Loras and Renly as an entity rather than individuals, the two of them are nearly inseparable and now that Renly is never working at the same gym, she only sees him when he’s sleeping over at theirs or climbing with the group on Fridays. 

“They’re moving in together!” Margaery interrupts her brother, excited to be the one breaking the news, and with the largest grin that Brienne’s seen on the Tyrell girl.

Renly has an arm around his boyfriend, and looks at her with bright eyes and the purest happiness. “I found a place near Angel, it’s a one-bedroom apartment with a fairly large kitchen, so we can always have you guys over, but it’s closer to the North gyms and we’ve… been talking about living together. It’s a really lovely apartment, and I couldn’t resist…” His voice trails off as Loras puts his right hand into Loras’ left, and Brienne can’t help but smile. 

Once upon a time she would have felt heavy with sadness and disappointment that it wasn’t her that was moving in with Renly, not her that he would wake up next to and want to prepare breakfast for. But Renly and Loras have become almost brothers to her, and she sees how beautiful they are together and how happy they have been since they stopped tiptoeing around what they could be, and just were.

Although she can't deny that she does wish if she'll ever have what they have - someone who holds you like you'd be any less without part of them on your skin, a person who looks at you as though you're the light, and a lover who is kind even when you feel anything but. She lets herself hope on the best of days, but Brienne knows - love is hardly made for someone who looks like she does.

“I’m moving out in two months, after Renly’s current lease ends. But we’ll still be around a lot, I’m not letting Margaery take my room for all her clothes,” Loras teases, his blonde hair shining in the light. 

Brienne laughs. “There’s no way you can stop that.” Margaery shrugs and tries to protest, but they all know that Loras’ cupboards won’t be empty for long. 

\--

Tyrion curses when the doorbell rings at 6am on a Saturday morning. He hasn’t been asleep for long, having spent the night at a gig with a model that he had been introduced to earlier that week, and he could do with a nice undisturbed weekend. 

But he hears the door click open, and several loud thuds before the sound of luggage wheels against the wood floors.  _ That’s never a good sign. _

He puts on a silk robe before sauntering out of his bedroom in the 5-bed house that he shares with Jaime - his brother has taken the top floor to himself, and two of the bedrooms are mostly cluttered up with Jaime’s endless junk, while Tyrion’s own en-suite is on the first floor. 

To his surprise, he sees his niece and nephew with two luggages each at the bottom of the stairs, looking just as bleary-eyed as him. 

“Myrcella, Tommen - it’s 6am. What are you -” 

“Cersei’s off to New York for a month, Robert’s uncontactable, and our sister has better sense than to leave them with strangers or Tywin for that long.” Jaime’s already dressed to go to the gym, and has a sandwich in his left hand. 

“So that means-” 

“We’re going to stay here for Easter, Uncle Tyrion!” Tommen’s glee is impossible to ignore, and judging from the movement in his duffle bag, Tyrion’s sure that he has brought his two kittens along for the stay. 

Myrcella shrugs, and looks at Jaime expectantly. “Where are we going to sleep, Uncle Jaime?” She and Tommen are no stranger to spending long periods of time away from home, but rarely with Jaime and Tyrion - her older uncle had often been away from the country himself, and her mother had always said that Uncle Tyrion was not reliable enough to be in charge of children. 

Thinking of it, she had hardly been over at theirs in the year that they moved into their Kensington house. 

Jaime takes her two luggages and carries them upstairs towards the only empty bedroom in the house, it’s on the second floor and has never been used, but he had gotten twin beds in there in case his niece and nephew ever wanted to stay over. 

He helps the younger boy unpack and sets up the cushions for Tommen’s kittens at a corner of the room, but Jaime notices Myrcella staring at him rather than settling back for a nap. “Where are you off to, Uncle Jaime? It’s a little early for social activity, no?” 

“I’m just going to the climbing gym.” 

“Your Uncle Jaime basically lives there. Every morning, without fail. If you ever wake up before nine and need something, just ring the gym.” Tyrion rolls his eyes, and moves to walk back to his room. 

“Can we go too? It’s Easter break, and we don’t really have anything to do this weekend.” Myrcella looks at her older uncle hopefully, and Jaime’s never been able to say no to her beautiful green eyes. 

Tommen’s a little reluctant when he steps into the gym, he’s never been the most athletic in the class, and his hands are too soft to have seen these holds before. But Jaime coaxes him into giving it a try, and Tyrion promises that they’ll have whatever Tommen would like for dinner if he stays for two hours. 

Jaime rolls his eyes at that, because he knows that the next month will just be filled with more bribes from his younger brother. 

Myrcella seems a bit more open to the idea of trying bouldering, having had one or two top-rope sessions at school, but wrinkles her nose when they enter the premises. “It’s a little… stuffy in here, isn’t it?” She looks at Jaime awkwardly, and he knows his niece is too polite to say it  _ reeks  _ of sweat in the increasingly warm spring. 

“You get used to it after a while, Myrcy.” Tyrion signs the waiver forms for his niece and nephew, and nudges them towards the counter. “Brienne, I think they’re going to need your help fitting shoes.” 

The tall blonde does a double-take when she sees Tommen - with his floppy golden hair and soft emerald eyes, he’s the spitting image of Jaime, or at least, what the Lannister heir would have looked like as a boy. 

“Gods, Jaime, your nephew looks-” “Exactly like me, I know. Everyone’s been saying it since he was a baby.” Jaime laughs, and walks into the back to grab a pair of rental shoes for his nephew, as Brienne’s eyes remain fixated on the boy. Jon’s sitting in the small room, but he just gives Jaime a nod of acknowledgment, not finding it weird at all that he’s back there - he’s become even more than a regular. 

Tommen is tentative on the walls, especially for a teenage boy. Most kids his age would just jump on the walls, unafraid of the falls and just jumping at the holds overexcitedly, but the boy is more timid. He takes longer breaks off the walls than his sister, says “I’ll come back to it” instead of “I’ll get it next time”, and doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself much as Jaime and Tyrion try to coax him to get onto the verticals. 

Tyrion quickly realises that instead of indulging his nephew’s reluctance, it’s a good opportunity to help Tommen get out of his shell a little. He works on the same routes the boy attempts, and talks him through the moves, encouraging him as he chips at the problems move by move. Jaime promises him each time before he gets on the wall that he’ll be behind him, and catch him if he falls, and has a twinkle in his eyes when he reminds Tommen that his uncle is strong enough even if he happens to slip at the top, which won’t happen because he’s going to have a nice solid grip. 

But it’s not until Brienne comes over and goes through some of the basic techniques with Tommen that the fair child relaxes and starts to really enjoy himself.  _ She has a way with children _ , Jaime realises, which he supposes is from working at the gym and spending all that time with the Stark kids. She encourages his nephew, guides him with the harder moves and tells him  _ he knows what he’s doing  _ when Tommen seems unsure of himself, and Jaime can’t help but beam proudly when he sees the child stick a tricky dyno at the end of a route and catching his swing perfectly. 

“Thank you, Brienne,” he murmurs softly as she stands next to him, both of them watching as Tommen attempts an overhanging route - his third of the day. Children have unlimited energy, she thinks, as she realises it’s been more than three hours since he started his session. Most first-timers would have been beat, but the children always seem to be fine even four or five hours through. 

“There’s nothing to thank, Jaime. What matters is that Tommen’s enjoying himself.” 

“He wouldn’t be if not for you, wench.” 

Jaime doesn’t know that Myrcella and Arya are actually friends - and that Myrcella’s been intrigued about climbing for a while because Arya’s been posting videos of herself on some of her favourite routes recently, and she looks like an absolute beast on those. They are the hardest routes in the gym, of course, with the smallest crimps and on the weirdest coordination routes, and she makes them all look easier than they are. 

The 16-year-olds had met while taking a Spanish extra-curricular two summers ago, and been chatting on Instagram on and off. Jaime wouldn’t have guessed it - Arya’s never mentioned knowing Myrcy, and he hasn’t spoken to his niece enough to have known that she was a fan of a bouldering champion. But even talking to each other, they make an interesting pair - Myrcella with her fair hair and dancer build, Arya stockier and well-muscled in the way only an athlete could look - and Jaime’s surprised that they hit it off so well. 

He catches Arya whispering something to Myrcella, and his niece looks at him briefly before laughing discreetly, and he  _ knows  _ it must be an embarrassing joke about him, but Arya gives him a look of feigned innocence, and he grins back.  _ What it must be to be sixteen and free _ . 

\--

“So what are your plans for Easter? Heading home for a bit?” Tyrion settles on the armchair next to Brienne as she hands him a mug of coffee that he gleefully accepts. 

She sighs - it’s a conversation she’s tried to avoid with Robb, Sansa, Margaery and especially Catelyn in the last couple of weeks, but there’s no avoiding when it’s Tyrion. He notices right away that it’s a sore point, and presses incessantly until she gives up. 

“I’m not going back till the summer at least. My father… he wants me to accept the Accenture offer, but I’m not all that keen on it. Consultancy… it’s not for me.” 

Tyrion eyes her slowly, and he knows that Catelyn has offered her a full-time job with the gym, to take over more managerial responsibilities at the South branch, which is a good opportunity in itself given how popular the Stark gyms have become in the last year or so, and more importantly, how much she loves working there. 

“Have you told him about Mrs Stark’s offer?” 

“I have… but he insists that it’s not a secure job, and that I won’t be making use of my degree, and how I would have wasted my time in London.” She sighs, and fiddles with her thumbs in the way Tyrion recognises as a nervous habit. 

“You know, Brienne, I have a proposition for you.” He looks at her knowingly, in the way he always gets whenever he’s proud of himself for coming up with something clever, and Brienne almost groans because he looks too proud of himself and always says something cringe-worthy when he gets like this. “What proposition? If you’re going to ask me to be your bodyguard again, I’m going to throw you onto the mats, and I promise I’m not just saying it this time.” 

“No, I’m serious. How would you like to be a freelance consultant for Lannister Group’s growing coffee business?” 

“What?” She looks at him with a mix of surprise and disbelief, but Tyrion’s gaze is sincere. 

“I mean it. We’re going to be buying over 10 plantations by the end of the year, we’ve got more cafes than ever, but we need a real strategy beyond just having a big name behind it - and I think you’d be valuable in helping us craft something unique and meaningful, not just to us as a corporation, but to customers and the creators behind the coffee. Would you consider it?” 

It’s a bit of a dream, Brienne thinks - she loves coffee almost as much as she loves climbing, but the food business is notoriously difficult to get into because of the high capital involved and how many chains and large companies like Lannister Group are entrenched in the industry. She never envisioned herself working in a huge corporation, neither did she think she’d get to do something with food, or with someone who appreciates food like Tyrion does. It’s an interesting proposition, one that she can hardly say no to. 

“Before you say no, I’m not going to ask you to quit working here. It’ll be a freelance position, project-basis, and we’re flexible with working hours and where you’re based - so you’d still be able to be here most of the time. If you wanted, you could work out of the gym too.” Tyrion smiles as she considers it, and continues.

“I don’t need an answer right now, you should think about it. But let me know soon.”

\-- 

Jaime decides that he’s going to take a trip to the Peak District for the long weekend because the weather forecast is promising. Now that it’s finally spring, he’s looking forward to taking his campervan up north and to do some hikes. It’s been far too long, and perhaps he could ever give outdoor bouldering a shot while he was in Sheffield. Plus, there was a gym in the city that Jon said had excellent setting and interesting routes to try. 

For the first time in years, Jaime invites others to join him on his trip. His campervan would easily take four people during the day, and three at night if they squeeze, but the weather would be nice enough to sleep in tents. 

Robb and Jon are immediately on it, and suggest bouldering when they’re there - the rock there isn’t the most beginner-friendly, but Jaime’s hardly a beginner anymore, his calluses will be able to take the gritstone just fine, Jon says. They’ve got a bunch of bouldering pads they’d be able to take, and two tents that are perfect for the warming spring. 

Loras, Renly, Margaery and Sansa agree to go along - it has been more than a year since they last went to the Peak District, and they’ve never been there during Easter, because they’ve always favoured going to Cornwall or Dorset where there’s some sea to enjoy during the downtime, and it’s an easier drive too. Renly has a car, a mid-sized hatchback, which he says he’ll drive up, and there’s no way he’s sleeping in a campervan. He doesn’t catch Sansa’s mutter that no one’s going to want to sleep in the same space as him and Loras, because god knows how handsy the pair are. 

Tyrion chokes back his laughter when Jaime asks his brother to go along. “It’s a young man’s game, and I’m not the young man you are,” the smaller Lannister quips. 

Jaime notices the hesitation when Brienne hears about the trip - she doesn’t say yes immediately, even though he guesses correctly that it’s the type of thing she’d enjoy. Somehow he is wishing that she’d say yes, and that she’d be excited about it, and he wants to tell her that it’ll be fun to wake up and step right into sheep poo. 

It isn’t him who convinces her to go on the five-day trip. It’s Margaery and Sansa, who tell her that it’ll be fun to share a tent and camp together for the first time in nearly two years, and how it’ll be nice to get back on the gritstone however painful it’ll be for the following days. And how they might finally complete one of the boulders that has eluded them the previous times. 

But it’s his eyes that twinkle most when she says yes.    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a little longer for this chapter to be complete, but it's been a long week at work for me. It's been really encouraging to read the comments on this and to hear that people are enjoying this, I'm glad to hear all the positivity and it's really helped me a lot. 
> 
> Let me know what you like, what you want to see more of, and whether there are things I'm writing that could be better. I'd always appreciate criticism and comments. 
> 
> Next time: They prep and start their adventure North!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight people go on a camping trip in the Peak District. Jaime presents Brienne with not-quite-armour and a not-quite-sword, and they talk.

It’s not even three hours after Jaime tells them about the road trip that Robb sends them all an email with a very elaborate packing list and a bunch of notes about who needs to make sure that they’ve got enough bouldering pads and tents to go around. The young man was thorough - windbreakers, fleece, socks, and even adding gaiters on the list, which seems a little excessive given that it’s going to be more bouldering than hiking. 

He can’t help but chuckle to himself as he sits in his study, looking over his own list of things to get in order before the weekend. He does a quick check on the weather, it’s warm enough for the middle of April, but he knows better than to trust that it wouldn’t change. The last time he was in Sheffield in spring, it hailed and the winds were as gusty as they would be in a December storm. 

He mentally makes a note to have his campervan checked before they leave - it has been more than three months since he took a long trip with it, and while he has gotten handy at changing tyres and oil, there’s nothing he’d hate more than being stuck needing a tow truck when no one’s working during the Easter break. 

He hears his door open, and he doesn’t need to look up to know that it’s his brother. “They’re disappointed that they’re not going to get to go, Jaime. You need to do something before I buy them puppies and horses and whatever else they want.” 

Jaime goes to the kids’ room - Tommen calls it their cave, they’ve managed to make it theirs in just a matter of days - and is taken aback when he sees the boy hugging his knees in bed, looking red-faced and upset. 

“Why aren’t you taking us on this camping trip, Uncle Jaime?” He half-expected a more petulant probe, but Tommen just looks hurt and disappointed. Myrcella is quieter than usual, sitting at her small desk and looking at her laptop, but he knows she’s waiting for his response as well.

Jaime knows he has to be delicate with this - the two children have been  _ left behind _ far too often in their young years, be it with their absent father or his sister. Cersei had rarely thought twice about putting her children in the care of others, it had always been about making sure that she was able to achieve her goals and how things affected Lannister Group. And Robert - god knows what the repulsive man was doing with his life, where he was, if he even remembered he had sired these beautiful, wonderful children. 

“Myrcy, come here,” Jaime murmurs softly, as he eases himself into Tommen’s bed, putting his arm around the boy. “I’m sorry I can’t bring you guys with me to Peak District. It’s not really the kind of trip which your mum would want you to take with me, and I’m not 100% sure that I’d be able to make sure that you guys were safe, and I don’t want anything awful to happen… But I promise, I’ll take you guys somewhere when I’m back, we’ll have a little camping trip when it gets a little bit warmer, maybe Dorset? We can have a bit of fun and hike near Durdle Door.” 

“Can we sleep in your campervan, with Uncle Tyrion too?” Myrcella looks up and smiles, and Jaime knows his niece is aware of how much Tyrion would complain about having to squeeze in the van with them, and chuckles at the thought. “Of course, but I’m leaving the convincing to you, Myrcy.” 

\-- 

Jaime arrives at the gym a good half-hour before they’re due to set off. He’d spent the previous day cleaning out his campervan after the mechanics tuned it up, and there’s about enough space for one person to sit up front and two or three in the back. It won’t take more than three bodies in the night, but he’s packed two tents and his sleeping bag as well - although he’s hoping the group of young adults will remember that he’s halfway through his thirties and really needs some padding under his back. 

He’s not surprised that Brienne’s the only other person who’s there already, but raises his eyebrows when he realises she’s only got a backpack and a small drawstring bag in tow. “Don’t you need a sleeping bag?” 

She lifts the flap of her pack to reveal a small bundle, and Jaime frowns slightly when he realises it’s a 2-season bag. “That’s nowhere near enough for the nights in Sheffield, the Peak District gets awfully cold at nights… Come round back, I’ve got something for you.” 

Jaime knew that Brienne had rarely gone on camping trips in the spring, it had always been more of a summer thing, with her brother, when she was younger, and guessed that she would not be prepared for the weather. He opens the front door of his camper, where a blue sleeping bag was on the seat. She picks it up - and can’t help smiling when she realises that it’s an extra-tall, down-filled bag good for 3-4 seasons. “It should fit - meant for people up to seven feet…” 

“And one more thing.” He holds out a small pocket knife to her, and she looks at him oddly. “It’s useful, you never know when you need it, plus there’s a little light right here,” he adds, pointing to the back of the blade. He doesn’t mention that he has one just like it, which he always uses to shave thin branches before using them to roast marshmallows. 

Brienne meets his earnest eyes - she’d told him about how it had been a long time since she went on a camping trip, the last had been with Galladon before his accident. And since then, she’d decided it was better not to, lest she upset her father. Camping had been one of Galladon’s favourite things to do - he’d often taken a tent and a sleeping bag with him, along with his climbing shoes and ample chalk, and disappeared for a weekend. 

“Thank you, Jaime.” 

“It’s nothing. But perhaps you could make me a coffee before we go?” 

\--

They set off once the rest arrive - Margaery and Sansa join Loras and Renly in the hatchback, after Robb protests that there’s no way he could be comfortable in the backseat of the car with a crashpad on his lap. He and Jon settle in the back of the campervan, with two crashpads between them, and fall asleep even before they’re out of London. 

Brienne wordlessly takes over the GPS, and sits up front with a few bottles of water and some snacks, which Jaime is grateful for - it’s about four hours to Stanage, which is where they’d have lunch and find a campsite nearby. 

She asks him about the first time he hiked in the Peak District. It was when he was a teenager, Tywin had moved them to Sheffield for eight months that year when they encountered some issues with one of their manufacturers, and Jaime was bored during a bank holiday weekend. Tyrion had refused to go with him for a hike - it wasn’t his thing, the younger man had protested, as he always did. 

One hike led to another, and Jaime found himself falling in love with the smell of sheep poo and grassy fields after a night of rain. He remembers the first time he had slept in a tent by himself in the rain, and how there was a little leak at the side - he ended up spending the night trying to figure out a way to fix it, when he could have just stayed in a B&B just 10 minutes away. He’d always asked Tyrion and Cersei to come with him, to see the beauty of the countryside -  _ the fields that corporations the likes of us are ruining  _ \- but neither of them ever got the appeal, much less his father. 

On one occasion which Cersei agreed to join him on a walk in Lake District, she’d ruined the soles on one of her favourite pairs of shoes - even though he told her to put on sensible boots instead - and told him he was the  _ stupidest Lannister  _ for wasting his time on such trivial pursuits. 

“Hiking’s hardly stupid. And I suppose it’s not a bad thing, you got to indulge in all the goodness and the green alone - most people never get to do that. To make a memory of beautiful places untainted by company that could be made unpredictable.” Brienne sounds wistful, and Jaime can’t help but reply: “Well, I hope the other six people on this trip aren’t your idea of tainted company. Unless you’re referring to me.” 

She laughs, and keeps her eyes looking straight even though their view of the highway hasn’t changed for the last hour. The only difference in the car was their conversation, and Robb’s snoring which only seemed to get louder. 

“We went to Santander a few years ago, Father, Galladon and I.” She says abruptly, and Jaime’s eyes grow serious as he glances at her, but she doesn’t meet his gaze.

“It was beautiful in the summer, it wasn’t as hot as I thought it’d be, we drove along the coast towards the Picos. Galladon and I spent several mornings running on the beach, and we made our dad promise that we’d be back again, Galladon wanted to climb in the Picos and I thought it might be a nice challenge too… But Galladon had an accident there shortly after - he was climbing with friends and was on a boulder when he misjudged… and they didn’t put enough crash mats around, there wasn’t anything they could have done when he fell from that height.” 

She swallows, and takes a swig of water as Jaime continues looking straight on the road, although he feels his palms sweating. 

“He dislocated both his shoulders - the doctors said he was lucky he didn’t fall right on his head or hit anything on his way down, but he also had a slipped disc. But something didn’t go right with the surgery he had after that, and he’s had several incidents of fluid in his spine, and… he hasn’t been able to climb again. He’s mostly in a wheelchair these days, but I haven’t seen him since I left for London, and he doesn’t come out of his room much these days.” 

Jaime isn’t sure if it’s place to say anything, but he puts his left hand atop her right, which she has unconsciously balled into a fist. It’s still slightly damp, but she doesn’t flinch when skin approaches skin. “Thank you,” she whispers, and the thumb stroking the back of her hand tells her that there’s no need for that. 

\-- 

They find a spot to climb after they have a quick lunch at a pub in the small town near their campsite. It’s mostly gritstone in Burbage, which is rough on their hands, and it isn’t long before Margaery and Sansa decide that they’re done for the day. 

Brienne’s surprised that they both decided to come along - the idea of them sleeping in a tent doesn’t quite make sense to her, until she realises that Renly has brought one of those tents that connect to a motorhome and a couple of air mattresses. No wonder they had to put all their bags and the crashpads into Jaime’s camper, she realises. 

Jaime’s fingers are soon stinging from the sharpness of the rock - gritstone is nothing like the holds they have in the gym, and the footholds on the boulders are non-existent compared to what they use indoors. “You’ll find that your footwork has improved immensely when you get back,” Jon remarks as he coaches Jaime up one of the routes. He tries not to get disheartened when he’s climbing routes that are a couple of grades lower than what he’s been doing in the gym, but the Stark boy says it’s perfectly normal, and that grades don’t matter anyway. 

While taking a break, Jaime can’t help but gape a little when he watches Robb. The young man seems more comfortable outdoors than he does indoors, and there’s a fearlessness about him as he plants his feet on pebbles which Jaime can barely see from where he’s sitting, powering through overhanging moves easily. He’s impressed with the fluidity with which Robb moves, and it’s rather much a work of art. 

“Robb’s always liked climbing outdoors more, says it’s the way it was meant to be.” Jon leans back on the rock next to Jaime, and passes him an energy bar, which the Lannister accepts gratefully - he’s starving, somehow, even though it’s only been three hours since they had lunch. 

“It’s a different skillset you use outside, I feel - you can get away with a lot less technique indoors, the footholds are a lot larger and you can read the route a lot easier. But out here, it’s a lot about instinct and the feel of the rock, and Robb’s always been the most instinctive out of us. There’s also a lot less dynamic jumps out here, it’s more controlled. But you should definitely see how Arya works the slabs outdoors, she looks like she’s just smearing everything, it’s quite ridiculous to watch, but she’s pretty much fearless.” 

“Do you prefer it, then? Climbing on real rock?” 

“Not really. I enjoy both, but I think I have the most fun making up routes as they come, and trying to play with angles and dynamic, fluid moves, which I feel more at ease trying in a gym environment. It’s nice to get outside and be inspired though.” 

He watches Brienne - she’s tentative on the routes, and notes that she’s avoiding the overhanging routes.  _ Galladon must have injured himself on one of those _ , he thinks. He sits with her as she assesses one of the slabs, and makes small talk that she doesn’t let fade away. Jaime can’t help but think about how her eyes seem bluer in the countryside, and the steely determination that she has when she attempts the route several times. But after she talked about her brother, and her family, there’s this fragility that he knows exist, one that she has barely let on in their daily encounters. She’s always been the one providing a little light to others - and as she shakes her head and walks away from the elusive route, Jaime realises that perhaps he wants to be a little light for her too. 

\-- 

The campsite is surprisingly empty despite it being Easter break, and Jaime chalks it up to the fact that it’s five degrees that night. But they’ve got sites with electric hook-ups and warm showers, and Renly had the good sense to bring a couple of portable heaters which he sets up inside their tent-home. 

It’s a large space, with an internal partition, and Loras and Renly quickly set up two sleeping pads in one of the partitioned areas, and put their rolled up sleeping bags atop the pads. Margaery and Sansa are inflating a double air mattress, and there’s enough space there for Brienne in a sleeping bag. Thanks to Jaime, she’s able to use her own bag as a bit of padding. The ground is unfortunately asphalt as they’re next to the electric hook-up, and Brienne hopes that the thin bag will provide a bit of relief from it. 

There’s about enough space in the camper for Jaime, Jon and Robb, but the two younger men wrinkled their noses at the suggestion that it was too cold to be in a tent outside. But Jaime realises that they’re both well-prepared for the chill - they’ve both got 4-season bags, thick socks and ample layers, and the tent Jon’s brought is double-walled and good for down to -10 degrees. 

He doesn’t try to change their minds - he’s not complaining about having more space than expected.

They start a small fire in the pit that night after a hearty dinner - Loras gets it started in a matter of minutes, and Renly joins Jaime in shaving twigs so that they can roast their marshmallows and make s’mores. Brienne takes out the pocket knife that Jaime gave her, and sits next to him on the same crash mat as she observes him expertly handling the twigs. 

“I tried cooking a chicken over a fire like this once. It took more than two hours, and even then bits of it wasn’t fit for eating. Now, I just do this to reheat the chicken I buy from Tesco.” Brienne laughs at Jaime’s admission, and can’t help but admire how easily he makes the task look. 

She glances across at Renly, whose actions are mirroring Jaime’s, but he looks a lot less practised. He leans against Loras as the pair murmur to each other in low voices, and Brienne doesn’t realise that she’s looking at Renly a little too longingly. 

Jaime catches the softness in her eyes, and realises then - she had mentioned once, briefly, about how she had liked someone who could never like her in the same way, and how it had been stupid, but that was how things usually were. She was okay with that now, she had added, but given the look that she’s wearing on her face, Jaime knows she probably isn’t. 

He doesn’t say anything about it, but he can’t help but ease a little closer to her, senses her shivering a little next to him despite the warmth from the fire. She’s wearing a thick blue hoodie, but her sweatpants don’t seem to be thick enough. He has a spare scarf in the van, and wants to hand it to her, but she shakes her head no when he offers to get her something warm, and he doesn’t press it.

Brienne can’t help but notice that Margaery is talking to Robb more than usual. The Tyrell heiress had remarked earlier that Robb had a certain charm to him when he was tackling the overhanging routes and gripping on to the harsh gritstone like they were smooth gym holds, and blushed ever-so-lightly when Robb helped apply some salve to her sore hands. But they’d been friends for years, and surely - Robb wasn’t quite Margaery’s blonde, blue-eyed, charismatic type. 

She spots Jon off by a table nearby, sitting with a redhead. The girl, Ygritte, was camping with her family, and Jon had offered her a beer, obviously smitten by the girl’s unconventional good looks. She’d sat with them by the campfire for a bit, and told them that she was born in Glasgow, but had been travelling around for her job as an engineer with an automobile company. She seemed like a free spirit, and Brienne noticed how Jon was a bit more talkative than his usual brooding self, asking Ygritte about what her plans were for the next few days. 

She’d never seen Jon date anyone in the few years she’d known him, and unlike Robb, he rarely spoke about girls who caught his eye. But looking at how he was laughing with Ygritte, Brienne had a feeling that was going to change.

\--

Later that night, after some beers and when they finally put out the fire, Jaime walks with Brienne back to the tent-home, crash mat in hand. “You should really put this under your sleeping bag… the asphalt’s going to be brutal. And… uhm… if it’s too cramped in there, there’s space in the camper.” 

Jaime tries not to sound creepy as he says it, but winces slightly as he remembers the age gap between them - and hopes she doesn’t take it the wrong way.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of room, but thanks for the offer,” she takes the crash mat from him and smiles - how did she not think of it earlier? 

It’s warm inside the tent, almost a little too warm, Brienne thinks, but it’s cosy - Sansa and Margaery are wrapped up in their sleeping bags on the air mattress, and she can vaguely make out the shapes of Loras and Renly snuggled up together. The sleeping bag that Jaime gave her is warmer than it looks - it’s lighter than most 4-season bags she’s seen.

She would have been stupid if she hadn’t noticed that he had been spending more time with her than anyone else - but chalks it up to her being the most familiar person he knows among the group. It’s still a bit of a mystery to her as to why he invited them on a camping trip that could have easily been him revisiting an old haunt, but her guess is that he just wanted some company and friendship for once, and they weren’t bad company. Plus, bouldering outdoors wasn’t really something you could do alone on the first try. 

As for the sleeping bag and pocket knife… Jaime was just looking out for her.  _ As a friend _ and perhaps a younger sister - she is more than ten years his junior, after all. 

Later, Jaime lies alone on the double-sized bed in his camper, snuggled in his sleeping bag. He can’t help but think about the way Brienne was looking at Renly earlier, and wonders if she had ever told him anything about it. He could see why she was charmed - the youngest Baratheon was tall with dark hair and expressive blue-green eyes, and was an easy conversationalist. She wouldn’t have been the first girl to take a fancy to him, Jaime was sure. But he can’t quite place why it bothers him, even if just a little. 

He opens the door of the camper, and puts on his slippers to get more water from the tap near the washrooms, and spots a faint silhouette - broad shoulders, short hair, and a familiar stance. Perhaps she too was finding it hard to sleep, despite the long day they’d had, the beers, and marshmallows in their tummies. 

“Hey.” He calls out softly, just loud enough for Brienne to hear. 

She spins around quickly, spilling some water as she does, and he tries not to grin too hard when her brilliant blue eyes meet his gaze.

“Can’t sleep either?” He ventures, and holds his flask under the tap as she moves away from it.

“Yeah. It’s been a while since I’ve slept outside, and it… doesn’t help that Loras snores.” Brienne blushes, glad for the cover of the night. She doesn’t mention that the crash mats, despite being nice and padded, are noisy when the velcro parts rub against each other every time she flips. Which is often - she’s always been a light sleeper. 

“My offer earlier still stands, if you want. Sorry, I realised it was a little odd when I said it earlier…” he trails off, cursing himself for not being able to keep his wit when it was needed. 

“I think I’ll take you up on it.” 

They try not to talk about how there’s not much space between their two sleeping bags - hers blue and his green, which could be zipped together if they wished to. Or about how it’s just the two of them together in the camper. Nor that it’s been a long time since either of them had been a position like this. 

Instead, Brienne tells Jaime about how she can’t get to sleep because she keeps thinking about Galladon - and how some nights she still has nightmares of his fall even though she never saw it for herself, the guilt she feels for living a life that her brother would have loved but can never have for himself again. 

Jaime tells Brienne about how part of him wishes he could be the son that Tywin wanted, even if he knows he would have been dead on the inside. And how he wants to be a better uncle to Tommen and Myrcella, even if it won’t make up for the awful parents that Cersei and Robert are. 

She asks him if he has considered asking Cersei to let the two children stay with him for an extended period, tells him that they look happy with him, and even if they have not had much love from their parents, at least they have two great uncles. He tells her that it’s a good idea, and actually seriously considers it. 

Jaime asks her about Renly - and her extended silence tells him what he had guessed. She only says that “it was nothing” and “there’s not much more to say”, and he leaves it at that. 

He doesn’t have a long story to tell when she asks him about his love life - and she’s surprised, because he’s 35 and the most handsome man she’s seen. He flinches a little when she asks him more about Cersei - “she’s my twin sister, and I love her, even though she’s an awful person, because it’s my duty to protect her”, but he sighs too deeply when he talks about how Cersei is obsessed with Lannister Group affairs. She can't help but feel a bit of relief when he tells her he's just never met someone who he thought he could date for a longer period than he did - which topped out at a surprising six months.

She tells him that her father tends the farm, and wants her to take up the consultancy job instead of going full-time at the gym, because it is the "sensible thing to do". Jaime remarks that it doesn't sound like she wants to be sensible about her career choice, and she doesn't disagree. 

Brienne considers telling him about Tyrion's proposition, but decides against it because she knows that Jaime would convince her that it was a fantastic idea and she'd be silly to not take it up. 

They also don’t talk about what it means when Jaime makes her wear his wool beanie when she remarks that her ears are cold. Or when he presses a kiss to her forehead as he tells her it looks better on her than it does on him, even though Brienne knows that can't be true.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five degrees Celsius, in case anyone was wondering, so not balls-freezing cold in the middle of April. 
> 
> Not a lot of direct conversation written here between J/B, but let me know what you guys think. Part 2 of the camping trip to come in the next few days!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the road trip. More climbing, more pining.

No one asks why Brienne’s sleeping bag is in the camper instead of atop the crash mats in the tenthome. Nor why she’s wearing Jaime’s red beanie when he had it pulled over his ears the day before. But it’s not a knowing gleam in Margaery’s eyes when she catches Brienne as she’s making a sandwich. She spreads almond butter and raspberry jam on two slices of wholewheat bread, and lines them up neatly before cutting them into triangles, putting them into the ziploc bags that they bought at a Tesco along the way. 

Neither Jaime or Brienne talk about how they wake up in the morning facing each other, with their opposite hands clasped firmly. Nor do they venture to ask who woke before and didn’t break the hold. 

He says “thank you” with the same evenness he spoke with the day before when she hands him a sandwich identical to her own, and she nods with the same politeness she’s always regarded him with. 

_ It is kindness and friendship _ , Brienne reminds herself, as she glimpses him running his fingers through his tangled golden hair. 

Sansa only claps a hand onto her friend’s, and complains about how Loras’ snoring was awful, and tells her how she’s  _ lucky  _ that she managed to escape for the night. As though the sleeping in the camper was just for one night. Brienne’s not sure, either, if it’s just for one night. 

Jaime learns that Brienne’s favourite jam is raspberry, and always with seeds, because those without usually taste less like the real berry and more like gelled-up cordial. And that she prefers almond butter over peanut because it’s less oily, and cashew butter is a great alternative but also a fair bit more pricey, so she doesn’t really have it all that often. Although she’d happily have peanut milk, which she makes herself every couple weeks or so. He makes her promise to let him try some the next time she makes a batch, and she says he can have more subsequently if he can guess her secret ingredient. 

_ It’s vanilla _ . 

They venture to Stanage for the next few days, and Brienne spends three afternoons working on Deliverance and several other problems around Stanage Plantation. Deliverance has always eluded her, even though the dyno should be easier given all six feet three of her, but she has never been able to get a good enough footing to make it a solid try. 

But she completes Not To Be Taken Away and The Green Traverse with more reassurance than she thought she would, and manages to coach Jaime through the former. He’s delighted, it’s one of the more interesting problems he’s tackled during the trip, and one of the classics, and she doesn’t reject his celebratory hug. 

He recognises the fall in her shoulders despite her encouraging smile when Robb sticks the catch for Deliverance on their third day at Plantation. She meets Robb’s fist bump, and nods when he tries to tell her to really just  _ go for it _ with her left, but Jaime knows that look. But Brienne is too nice and too supportive of a friend to show her disappointment that she isn’t able to complete the route, and Jaime puts a hand on the small of her back which she doesn’t shrug away from.

\--

They meet Ygritte again when they’re doing the Ladybower walk, a gorgeous circular walk which overlooks the reservoir, and the colour of spring and the returning green in the trees sort of remind Brienne of Jaime’s eyes in the night. 

Jon blushes when they spot the familiar red hair someway ahead, with a bunch of people who Brienne presumes are her family. The pair trail off after a short while, after a little prodding from Robb. She doesn’t overhear what Robb tells his cousin, but seeing the mischief on his face, she knows it probably has something to do with how  _ if he wants her he has to go for it _ . 

They make an interesting pair - Jon is soft-spoken and mild, but Ygritte is outgoing and strikes up easy conversation with whoever she’s interacted with. She bounces when she walks, her curls matching her rhythm, and Jon is obviously very taken. But Brienne senses and understands her friend’s hesitation - Ygritte is afterall a wandering soul, and she belongs elsewhere than London, and Jon is grounded there. It’s not a likely match, not a practical one. 

_ Does it really matter, though?  _

Sansa is clearly excited by Ygritte’s presence - she’s been egging Jon to date someone for ages, but her cousin has always been shy and too reserved to ask someone out, even if it was obvious that the other person was interested. Too many missed chances, she always lamented to Brienne and Margaery. 

She’s tried matching Margaery and Jon, but the Tyrell girl and Jon weren’t quite on the same wavelength, and now that they’d been friends for years, it was clear that Jon would never be able to stand her friend’s endless chiming. But the look that Jon gets when he catches Ygritte’s eye is different - it is adoring, warm, and open - and Sansa doesn’t think she has ever seen it, and she hopes they can find a way. 

Brienne is astounded by the views of Ladybower Reservoir, she vaguely remembers reading about it, but they had never had enough time to take a proper walk around. Jaime had insisted they did this walk on an afternoon after a hard climbing session earlier, he said it was easy enough, and beautiful enough to be worth their time. 

He wasn’t lying when he said it was beautiful, Brienne thinks. For all the many reservoirs and water bodies she’s seen around the national parks in the UK and other parts of Europe, there’s something special about the calmness amidst the foggy afternoon, with the hint of rain hanging overhead, held back by the faintest of sunshine. It was a characteristic of the English parks, Jaime had murmured, as she lingered for a few seconds longer at one of the brief stops they made. “It’s one of my favourites, too,” he had said, just loud enough for her to hear. 

Loras insists that they all take a picture together at the end of the walk, or halfway, as Jaime protests lightly. They didn’t have enough time to make the full walk, as it looked like it was going to storm, and they didn’t want to risk getting stuck in the weather. Renly had brought a camera, and a tripod that he had rather needlessly carted about, strapped to his small backpack.

The clouds were treacherously grey, and the vibrant colours the leaves held just hours earlier looked dark and dull, but there was a brightness in the smiles captured - and for the first time in a long while, Jaime remembered that this was also home. 

\--

“Why don’t you ever stay over for Christmas, Uncle Tyrion?” 

Tommen’s question is innocent, as Tyrion tells him about the turkey disaster that he and Jaime conjured up the year before, and how Bronn saved them by grudgingly agreeing to add an extra table to the dinner service. 

“Uncle Tyrion doesn’t like Mother or Grandpa very much, Tommen.” Myrcella says it lightly, but the heaviness in the undertones makes Tyrion grimace. 

“Well, Myrcy, it’s not… it’s not quite like that.” 

“It’s ok, Uncle Tyrion. They’re… not very nice people, are they? I mean, they’re Mother and Grandpa, and they’re family, and I know how Grandpa always says family is most important, but… if Mother wasn’t quite so stern then perhaps Father would still be around sometimes.” Myrcella hugs her knees closer to her body on her bed, pulling them away out of Tyrion’s reach before he could instinctively put his reassuring hand to her right knee. 

Tyrion hesitates and considers what he can say - he can’t tell them that Tywin hates him, and that Cersei hates him, for killing their mother and beloved wife - even though he was but a child and it wasn’t really him but circumstances. He can’t say that his father could never deal with the fact that he had a dwarf, an imperfect child, for a son. Nor can he divulge that his sister is evil to the core and the only goodness she has borne has been her children, somehow sweet, kind, and untainted by her conniving. 

But he tells them that sometimes even family doesn’t have to love each other - but there is enough respect, between himself, Grandpa, and Mother, to leave each other to their own devices and support them when required, but how it’s really better that they live their separate lives for most of the year and maybe just come together when it’s really needed, as a reminder that family can be good. 

He tells them that he loves them - more than he is able to show, and how he feels awful that Robert isn’t around, and that it isn’t really Cersei’s fault, because it really isn’t, that she married a drunk and a man who has more interest in siring more children than the good, kind ones he has already had grown. He holds his tongue when Myrcella asks if he knows about the mistake that Robert has made - he doesn’t ask “which one?” - and simply brushes it off, saying: “You’re not quite old enough, but someday, I promise, I’ll tell you.” 

Jaime would have chided him, as much as Jaime could, because his brother has always been adamant that it is not their place to talk about how awful a person Robert was, no matter how decent he had seemed before he had married Cersei. No, Jaime had always rejected the notion that Cersei was the one who set him on this path, it was just his true colours revealed by time, and pure coincidence that two awful people had to come together. 

Tyrion knows that his brother still believes that Cersei has their good at heart, no matter how many times she has regarded Myrcella and Tommen’s needs for her time and care as weakness, and how she has neglected their wish to know their mother beyond what they read of her in the papers. 

So he tells them of the time that Cersei was kind - when she actually told Tywin that he should give Tyrion a shot at running the food & beverage dept, because she knew that he wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t just going into it blind, and had a little faith in him. And he tries to convince himself as much as them, that there is good in his sister, and it’s just a little harder to spot when she is so busy trying to make good of Lannister Group. In that she has always been single-minded and ambitious, but it is also for them that she does so. Or so he tries to have them believe, much as himself. 

Tommen believes him, of course the trusting child does, and his golden hair and earnest look reminds Tyrion of a young Jaime, who would nudge Tyrion and shush him whenever he tried to explain his rationalising of Cersei’s actions, which were admittedly always from the worst-case perspective. But Jaime had always seen the best of their sister, defended her actions even when Tyrion didn’t believe it possible to, protected her from the worst of the criticism, and trusted in her heart. It was his brother’s greatest strength, to love unconditionally, even if the love was placed in someone Tyrion considered most undeserving. 

But Tyrion can see in Myrcella’s eyes a flicker of doubt, and despite her gentle nod of understanding, he knows the child will take a bit more convincing than a superficial speech, and he is grateful for that. He has never been one for the superficial, after all. 

“But it’s different for Uncle Jaime, isn’t it?” She mumbles it, almost. 

“You’ll have to ask your Uncle Jaime for yourself, Myrcy.”

\-- 

Brienne tries not to, but she can’t help but overhear Renly and Loras talking about decorating their new apartment. They’re going to paint the walls the faintest shade of lavender, because it’s meant to be calming, and plain white is just too  _ boring _ . Renly laughs, and tells Loras he’ll be an awful painter, and Brienne knows it’ll be true - the one time Loras tried to paint their front door it ended up patchy and they had to call someone to fix it up because he’d painted over the peephole. 

“What do you feel about a loveseat?” Renly pipes up, in between climbs. Loras is taking a rest, after he ventured on a 6b which had an awful sit start. “Always thought they were silly. There’s not going to be enough space, we should just get a proper couch with enough room so we can both lie out.” 

“L-shaped, or a plain seater?” “You pick.” She looks away as Loras leans in for a kiss, and her eyes meet Jaime’s.  _ He wasn’t looking at her, he was just eavesdropping, like she was. _

He has a slight frown on his face, he’s been working on a 6a which should be doable for him, it’s right up his alley, with decent footholds that he should feel confident enough in, and the crux is a gaston which he always likes, of course he would, with his strong lats and shoulders that hold the move beautifully. 

She realises that he’s struggling with the move after the gaston, which should be a heel hook before he releases his left arm to go for a jug. But he doesn’t trust the heel, he hadn’t had to do many heel hooks in the gym because he always found a way around them, but outdoors, there is less to hide behind, and less in the holds to trust - the feet are always important. She convinces him that the heel is indeed secure, and the angle is alright, she throws more crash mats under the move and  _ promises him she’ll catch him if he really falls _ , and when he doesn’t laugh, she realises how important this is to him. 

Because for Jaime climbing isn’t just about pushing his limits and having fun at it - it’s also about proving to himself that he can challenge himself and go beyond those challenges to be more than he was in the previous moment. He missed that chase, that unending pursuit of something special. And now that climbing had brought that back for him, it probably would take some pushing before he let it go. 

So he really trusts that heel when he goes on the route again, and she stays true to her promise, standing by and spotting him as he places his heel carefully, looking for that groove where it’ll catch and he’ll let stick. There are ample mats underneath should he fall, and he knows she’s strong enough to catch him because she’s spotted Loras and Renly well enough, but Jaime isn’t planning on knowing if she is, because he’s finishing the route. And he does, he powers through the gaston, even though his right shoulder is tired from all the routes he’s done for the day and the previous days, and puts enough faith in his left heel to reach up for the crimp with the left hand. 

He feels it, and trusts it, as Brienne yells at him that he has it good, and releases the left heel as his right foot finds a pebble to push off, and throws his right hand into a crack. It is secure, as she promised, and the rest of it is easy enough by this point, his left foot matches on the pebble and he flags with his right leg before he reaches up for the last jug with his left.  _ He did it.  _ He heaves himself atop the boulder, and even though it’s cheers from the others that he hears, it’s Brienne that he looks at. She looks at him, her blue eyes shining, and gives him a huge thumbs up, beaming.  _ We did it.  _

They don’t realise that Sansa and Margaery are looking at them both in turn, and exchange a knowing look.

\-- 

Brienne continues sleeping in the camper over the next few nights. There’s no reason to - Loras still snores like a fire truck,  _ she doesn’t know how Renly deals with it _ , and Margaery and Sansa are deep enough sleepers that it doesn’t bother them if they fall asleep before he does. With all the climbing and hiking that they’re doing in daylight, and the beer they have after nightfall, it is easy enough to drift into sleep before Loras and Renly are done murmuring all their sweet-nothings.  

It isn’t until the last night, that Sansa and Margaery pull her away while they’re huddled around the fire like the first night. They hadn’t made a fire the other nights, they’d had their meals in nearby pubs and it didn’t make sense to start a fire when other site occupants were winding down. But they had plenty of marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers left, and two coolers full of beer, and a fire felt like the only fitting way to say goodbye to what had been a fruitful trip. 

She still hadn’t completed Deliverance. But it was okay, the route would always be there for next time. Just like how Kinder Scout would always be there - they didn’t have enough time for the 16km hike, and Jaime had gushed over the ascent and how it absolutely worth coming back just for that alone - she knew it wouldn’t be the last time she was in the Peak, and it wouldn’t be long before she was back.  _ Whoever she’d be back with _ . 

“So… we didn’t want to make it awkward, but Bri, what’s really going on between you and Lannister?” Margaery was direct, keeping her voice low as Jaime was vaguely within earshot, and Sansa’s eyes were scanning her face meaningfully. 

“There’s nothing going on. Honest,” she murmurs. And she isn’t lying - because they’ve slept peacefully each night, just talking - about things from their childhoods, his youth, and all the adventures he’d had, and all the nicer memories she had growing up. She told him about growing up with chickens, and he’d chuckled, telling her about the two weeks when he helped out on a chicken farm in Aomori. They were both light sleepers, which she realised when he awoke and told her  _ it was okay and she was safe  _ when she’d dreamt of Galladon falling and her not catching him,  _ and in that dream it was her fault that Galladon never got to live the life he had always hoped for.  _

“Then why does he follow you around so?” If it had been from Margaery the question would have been more piercing and harder to reply, but Sansa’s query was slightly worried, and Brienne couldn’t help but put her hand over her redheaded friend’s as she said that she and Jaime were just friends, and they enjoyed each other’s company, as friends. He was a good decade older, after all, and he just saw her as the younger sister he never had. 

But the look her friends’ gave her made it plain they didn’t really believe what she had told them, but they didn’t really have enough to question otherwise. 

Ygritte joins them for their campfire that night, and Brienne can’t help but laugh when Jon tries to roast a marshmallow to make a giant, double-chocolate s’more for her and ends up blackening it instead. His grimace is plain in the firelight, but it goes away the moment Ygritte kisses him on the cheek and says it’s perfectly fine, and has the graham crackers with two squares of chocolate instead. 

She can’t help but look on when Loras and Renly cuddle as they put on the playlist that Margaery made - it’s full of Coldplay and Keane. They’ve all gotten used to the overt displays of affection that the couple are predisposed to, and it’s sweet, really. 

Brienne notices that Margaery’s thrown in a few of Robb’s favourites, several odd picks including some Spector, which Robb tried to get everyone to watch when they played at Scala, and how Robb refuses to give her another beer when it’s apparent that she’d had one too many. 

But she doesn’t mean to catch Jaime when the song runs into  _ “ _ _ I dreamed I had nothing at all, nothing but my own skin” _ , and he looks at her so fervently that she almost lets herself believe. 

\--

They don’t fall asleep till 5am that night. 

Jaime had a couple of beers, and so did she - but they’re both sober enough. For real conversation, but tipsy enough for looser lips than in the daylight. They sit on the mattress, backs against a side of the van each, with a faint light creeping through the windows courtesy of the campsite’s washroom. 

They’ve got a couple more drinks sitting in the front of the van, chilled and Jaime reaches for them, cracking a beer open each for them both. He hands one to her, and she looks at it for a moment before she asks him to tell her his darkest secret. 

What a way to start the evening, he replies, as though they hadn’t been sitting around the same fire for hours before. 

He drinks more than half the bottle, and looks at her in the eyes for a good seconds, before saying: “It’s not a pretty story.” 

“You’re pretty enough for it not to be.” She doesn’t hold back, not when she’s had more than eight beers, but who’s counting? 

“You think I’m pretty? That’s nice. Well… this is partly why Catelyn Stark doesn’t think much of me. You’re much too young to know, most of you are - but even so... “ He takes another swig from the bottle, and her piercing blue eyes tell him that she’s not going to interrupt him until his story is complete. 

“I was sixteen, maybe almost seventeen, when we went to the Alps. We used to go there, every winter, or at least once during the ski season. The right thing to do, Cersei always said, and she liked it, and Tywin never disagreed. It was where everyone who was anyone would go for the winter. Aerys Targaryen - he was the chief executive of their company then, you must have heard of him when you were younger - he was there too. 

“I was snowboarding that season, I always liked snowboarding more than skiing, it always felt like I had more control. And Aerys was snowboarding too, because he said that skiing was a lesser sport. I smiled, because everyone only smiled at him, he was the head of one of the largest corporations, what else was one to do? He asked me to help him get his gear that day, and my father had guaranteed that I would. Even though everyone knew that Aerys was an awful person - he’d been harsh with everyone at the resort, in words or actions, but no one would say anything, because he was Aerys Targaryen. 

“I took the first snowboard I saw that would fit him - it looked like a board like any other - and passed it to him before we went up the lifts. I wasn’t on the same lift up as him, I refused to do more than pass him his board, and my father was furious, but he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it anyway. 

“But it turns out that the board I gave Aerys was broken, the bindings were loose. And when he went down the slope they broke off, and he had been on a black slope - his head struck a rock and he never woke up right again. My father made sure that most of the world never knew that I had been the one to pass him that board. Not that I had done it on purpose - I genuinely never knew - but Tywin always made sure.” He pauses, and finishes his beer as he examines Brienne, but her expression was unchanged, simply staring into his emerald eyes.

“The news reports said it as it was - an accident - but it was the death of the Targaryen heir, how could it just be left as that? Most of the people at the resort then - including Catelyn and Ned - thought I had something to do with it, because Lannister Group thrived after the Targaryen company struggled, and we never went back to the Alps. So in some way, they all think I’m a murderer, and I’ve never been able to prove them otherwise.” 

Brienne doesn’t know how to reply - by now Jaime is slightly choked up, and even though he is naturally articulate, she knows it must be the first time that he had to tell a story like that. 

“Do you blame yourself? For his death?” 

“He deserved to die - not that I would have killed him myself, no, but Aerys was not a good man, and someone like him who raped and took advantage of so many women was not deserving of life. So no, I don’t blame myself for his death, I don’t take pride in how it was. More would have been worse off for it, I think.

“It wasn’t until a few months after his death that Cersei told me that Aerys had tried to kiss her two years prior, and then - I had no regrets whatsoever.”

“So why is it your deepest secret?” 

“Because if people were ever to find out that I was in any way involved in his death, and I were to be the head of Lannister Group then, everything my father worked for would be for naught.” 

Brienne knows Jaime and Tyrion well enough to know that the prestige of the company means little to them - they take more pride in the work they do than what Lannister Group stands for - and it puzzles her, that this would be something to cause Jaime such frustration. 

“I don’t love him, but he is my father - and much as he has wanted me to live a life different from the one I have chosen, he has never taken what I have away from me, and that in itself is worth celebrating. I don’t doubt that he wishes I could be the heir he always wanted. I never will be. But he has let me be the heir I am, and family means the most to him, and I will always honour that.”

He sinks back against the wall - he had leaned further forward till he was only a forearm away from Brienne in his fervour - and sets his empty bottle on the floor of the van. “There you have it, my greatest secret - I am a man who may have killed another, and have little regret to show for it. If it makes me a man to be hated, so be it, I have made peace with it. So tell me, wench, what is your greatest secret, and does mine disgust you?”

His foot is touching hers, and the layers of socks and sleeping bags prevent Brienne from feeling his warmth, but she knows he must be scorching from the alcohol and the frustration he has released in his monologue. 

“I don’t like you any less for it, Jaime. You didn’t do anything wrong by him, even if he was the Targaryen heir - what does it matter what others think you did? Words are wind.” 

_ Words are wind _ , more for herself than for him. 

She tells him about Ron and Hyle and how no man has looked at her fairly in her life - how it was always pity or disgust. 

“But it doesn’t matter, I figured - they are just men who see me as the ugly woman I am, for my height and my broadness, and I don’t have to look at them as any more than the stupid fools they are. Even if it doesn’t change the fact that most of the world lives by the same rules and beauty is important. 

One of the teachers back home used to tell my father it was important that I was good at tending the farm, because that was all I’d ever amount to. That I’d end up taking care of it because Galladon would marry someone else in the city and live his life there because that’s where people who look a certain way belong, and people who look like me, we belong in a place where others don’t have to look at us.

It bothers me less, now. I can’t say it doesn’t at all, because that’ll be lying, and we said we’d be honest, here, didn’t we?”

Jaime wants to tell her that it shouldn’t bother her at all, wants to say that she’s not ugly, even if he can’t say she’s beautiful. But she has the most brilliant eyes he’s seen, and they capture every figment of his imagination, and his favourite part of the trip has been that he’s been able to look at her sapphires every time he turned around. 

But he knows it’s not the right moment to do so - it would be mocking her, belittling what she had deigned to share with him. So Jaime does what he knows, does what he can. 

She doesn’t push him away when he unzips his sleeping bag and hers in turn, and zips them up together, with only “it’s cold tonight” in between. She lets him put his arm underneath where her head nestles as he tells her about what beauty has come to mean to him - they are the rolling hills and grassy fields and untainted skies. It matters not whether rain has fallen or the sun shines overhead, there is beauty in every version of the weather, wherever they are. 

He feels the tension in her body ease a little as he holds her a little closer, puts his hand around her shoulder because it reaches, even if she says that her shoulders are broad - he wants to prove to her, that it matters little because his arm is long enough, and those who have mocked her for her broadness were just not big enough themselves. 

She says “thank you” one too many times and he murmurs back that he’d much rather hear her say his name, because she pronounces the first syllable almost like a whisper, like it’s too delicate to let down fully. She chuckles at that, and turns around to face him instead of the top of the campervan, and doesn’t think about what the questioning looks have wondered in the previous days. 

In this light, Jaime is her friend, her confidante, and that is enough. 

Even if part of her knows that a friend, a confidante, doesn’t strip off his last clean sweater to ball up for her to use as a pillow when she complains his arm is a little too wiry to be comfortable for a night’s sleep, even though it’s colder tonight than it was the days before. She has committed his smell to memory - a slight muskiness with a hint of mint from the aftershave he puts on despite not having shaven in days - and it is the same smell that she drifts to sleep with, comforted by his presence. 

Jaime watches her eyes darken as she lets her body relax, and there is an anger he tries to let go into the night - the wish that he had been around so that she hadn’t had to grow up thinking that she would only amount to little when she has been the most that he has met. 

He thinks she’s asleep when he kisses her forehead, like he has done for every night since the first, and puts on his dirty beanie - it smells like the shampoo she uses, a bit of rosemary in it. 

_ And he dreams of her _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's a fair bit of dialogue here - let me know how it felt, if it was ooc - the way I've written their relationship is a bit rogue, but in my head it made enough sense.  
> Deliverance is a route I never did try myself, it looks terrifying in real life - there are videos of it, and it's massive in person, so - it's fitting that it's something Brienne would work towards.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime wants to tell her about how he dreamed of her - that they were in Pembrokeshire, and it was foggy even though it was April and meant to be sunny mostly. That it was chilly, and he had barely five metres of vision, but he could make out her laughter, her fine blonde hair, and when she spun, he could see the brilliance of her eyes shining all around him. It was all he saw, really. How she had taken his hand and led him up a path which was a little dicey given the weather, they were a foot or maybe a foot and a half from the edge of a cliff, but they had to walk there to see the migratory birds.
> 
> How Brienne had used the little pocket knife he’d given her to cut him free from the tangles of some weeds which caught onto his trousers, and wriggling free would be too precarious given the lack of a sure footing. And how they’d snuggled in zipped-up sleeping bags, for warmth, but mostly because they wanted to. And the little fire they’d made at night, waiting for the sky to turn dark enough so that he could show her all the constellations he knew. Still none of those stars would be as beautiful as the glances her eyes gifted.

Jaime wakes up first - or so he thinks - and brushes a stray hair from her left cheek, and he can’t help admiring her freckles. They’re pale but abundant, speckling her cheeks and nose, and even on her neck. 

But she stirs, slightly, and their eyes meet - he’s close, and his hand is beside her ear, close to cupping it. “Jaime,” she breathes. 

_ He wants to tell her that he is in love with the way she says his name - almost like a whisper, the second syllable even softer than the first  _ \- and so he does. “Say my name again.” 

“You’re a narcissist, Lannister.” 

“No, my name is Jaime. And I just like the way you say it - almost as though my name is something precious.”  _ As thought it would shatter if it was said any other way _ . 

“Jaime - like this?” She says his name again, and he can’t help but grin to himself, before someone taps impatiently on the bonnet of the camper. 

“Hey, open up, we’ve got to put the pads in there!” 

It’s Robb - and Jaime can see he’s carried three of the crash pads with him. He pulls back slightly from Brienne, and tries to ignore the desire within him to have this conversation for a little longer, and she does the same, easing out of her sleeping bag. 

Except she does it too quickly, and bumps heads with him before she jolts upwards and hits the back of her head on the roof of the camper. She curses softly, and he can’t help but reach towards her. She looks more embarrassed than annoyed, and laughs at the concerned look on his face, brushing his hands away. “I’m fine, Jaime. Robb’s going to give you a bump on  _ your  _ head if you don’t open the doors soon. It’s fine.”

She’s right - Robb looks slightly miffed when he finally unlocks the doors to the camper, clambering over the front seat to do so. 

“Geez, Jaime, it’s damp enough in here, what took you so long? We’re got to get on the road before 9am, it’s Sunday, there’s bound to be awful traffic on the M1.”

He glances at the back, where the mattress is still set down and cluttering up the space, and throws the pads into the front passenger seat. Robb spots Brienne rolling up her sleeping bag, and motions to Jaime to speak with him.

“So… I know it’s not really my place, but Brienne’s my friend, and I heard Sansa and Margaery talking to her yesterday. I know she said there’s nothing going on, and I believe her, and I don’t think you’re that much of an asshole to take advantage of someone 10 years younger than you. But… consider this is a fair warning - if you do hurt Brienne in any way, it’s not just Sansa and Margaery who will have your head.” 

Robb doesn’t wait for Jaime to reply, and even though the oldest Stark boy was well, a boy, his stocky frame cut an intimidating sight. 

Jaime looks back at Brienne, who’s single-handedly wresting the large mattress apart and reinstating it into the couch seats for the drive back, and he can’t help but feel a bit of warmth coursing through his veins. 

He passes her a pack of ice along with an almond butter and raspberry jam sandwich when her finally joins the rest of them at the table near where the tenthome had been pitched. Brienne's still rubbing the back of her head, there's probably a tender bump that's growing there now. She can't help but chuckle when she bites into it - they've been the only ones who paired the two spreads, Robb had insisted that only peanut butter could do, while Sansa was a purist about her strawberry jam. 

Jaime can't help but roll his eyes a little whenever he remembers that they have 5 bottles of spreads for 8 people on a camping trip. His gaze flickers to Brienne, who isn't sitting down at the table, she's standing - all six feet three of her - gazing into the hills in the background, taking it all in before they go back to the frazzled city life. 

_ Her eyes seem to glow even brighter in the soft morning sun.  _

Jon looks a little embarrassed when he tells them that he's staying for a little while more in Sheffield, and going up to Glasgow before he returns to London in a week, or so. 

Sansa bluntly remarks that he's only got one place on his mind, and Robb inserts: "In Ygritte's arms."

Jaime doesn't think he's ever seen the boy blush, but he does then, unmistakably so. 

Margaery gushes over how beautiful Ygritte is, and how wonderful it is that Jon is just going for it, and the poor boy just stays awkwardly silent as it goes over again. 

"She's the most interesting person I've met. And I've always wanted to check out a couple of places in Glasgow, so why not?" Jon shrugs, and picks up one of the crash mats before he waves goodbye - and no one is really sure that they'll be seeing him a week. Perhaps by the end of Easter break, if only because he has exams to take. 

Brienne doesn't realise that Margaery has been talking to Robb an awful lot in Jon's absence - until Sansa tells her that Jon hadn't been in the tent he shared with Robb the previous night, but Margaery had. 

"They've known each other for ages, Sansa, I'm pretty sure if Marg wanted to make a move, she'd have said something by now. Plus, hasn't she always said that Robb's a little too rough for her liking?" 

They glance over to the unlikely pair, who are washing the dishes at the communal sink a distance away, and it doesn't look unusual - Robb's relaxed as he usually is, and Margaery's chattering away. 

"No, she's always said that Robb isn't her type - always been more into the outgoing alphas, you know? Like that football player from her school who turned pro - Alexander, was it? But she's been saying that Robb's different these days, and he isn't ignoring her after her fifth sentence like he used to. I'm telling you, there's something there."

Brienne shrugs, unconvinced - but she's never been the best at telling if someone was romantically interested or not, after all. 

So she doesn't think it's anything unusual when Margaery says she's crashing at the back of the camper with Robb, which makes Sansa jump and say she is too, because no one really wants to be alone with Loras and Renly in an enclosed space for four hours, even if Renly's going to have to focus on the road. 

\--

The drive back to London doesn’t feel all that different from the ride to Sheffield - even though it’s five instead of four in the camper. It rattles a little, with the pots at the back sliding a little - they’d only cooked two dinners there, and Jaime sort of wishes it had been a bit more camping and less eat-at-a-pub, but it was nice to have something different for a change. It’d been a while since he’d been at a campsite with other people he didn’t just meet an hour ago, and he had to admit it was one of the nicest trips he’d had in the Peak District. 

_ Most of it is her.  _ He was certain that there was something special about Brienne, and he was sure enough that she knew he looked at her different. 

The kids in the back - in his head they were all children, even if they were around the same age as Brienne, she just seemed more level-headed than the rest. Renly was older, but even so, he seemed just as carefree and  _ young  _ as Sansa or Margaery. Not that Brienne didn’t feel young, there was a naivety in the way she spoke about her hopes for post-university, but there was an ache in the way she had spoken about Galladon that made him feel distinctly that she had been too much pain for someone of her twenty-two years.

Jaime glances at the rearview mirror, and he spots Sansa watching something on her phone, Robb’s out cold again - something about him and sleeping on car rides - while Margaery was between the Stark siblings, reading an ebook on her Kindle while plugged in. 

He’d offered to let Brienne put on her Spotify playlist - she has a good rotation, as evident from the music she plays at the gym - but she had declined, and insisted he continued with the audiobook he’d been playing before. It’s Alain de Botton’s  _ The Architecture of Happiness _ , and he had listened to it once, but it was on a plane ride which Tyrion had interrupted rather frequently, and he rarely got the time to put on an audio book these days. 

She seems to be listening to it as intently as he is. When he hears one quote which resonated with him previously -  _ “Our sadness won’t be of the searing kind but more like a blend of joy and melancholy: joy at the perfection we see before us, melancholy at an awareness of how seldom we are sufficiently blessed to encounter anything of its kind. The flawless object throws into perspective the mediocrity that surrounds it. We are reminded of the way we would wish things always to be and of how incomplete our lives remain.”  _ \- he wonders if she’s dwelling on the same way he is.

_It reminds him of how he had felt before he had returned - he had always been resigned to the fact that the family business was something to dread and an obligation. But living in Japan, on the farms and interacting with the farmers, knowing their stories, he was encouraged to do what he had always thought about but never had the drive to carry through. There had been months of difficult convincing, and many times where he had wanted to just go back and forget that he had this idea to branch something out from Lannister Group, but he was reminded now, of how incomplete his life would feel otherwise. His days didn't feel as incomplete now._   


“How’s the head?” He pauses the audiobook and switches to the Spotify playlist on his phone - a daily mix, and looks over at her as they stop amidst the traffic building up. 

“It’s a bruise, nothing more. Bit silly, isn’t it, I didn’t get many scrapes on the boulders this time but this.” She rubs the back of her head again, wincing as she touches where it’s tender. 

_ He wants to tell her about how he dreamed of her - that they were in Pembrokeshire, and it was foggy even though it was April and meant to be sunny mostly. That it was chilly, and he had barely five metres of vision, but he could make out her laughter, her fine blonde hair, and when she spun, he could see the brilliance of her eyes shining all around him. It was all he saw, really. How she had taken his hand and led him up a path which was a little dicey given the weather, they were a foot or maybe a foot and a half from the edge of a cliff, but they had to walk there to see the migratory birds.  _

_ How she’d used the little pocket knife he’d given her to cut him free from the tangles of some weeds which caught onto his trousers, and wriggling free would be too precarious given the lack of a sure footing. And how they’d snuggled in zipped-up sleeping bags, for warmth, but mostly because they wanted to. And the little fire they’d made at night, waiting for the sky to turn dark enough so that he could show her all the constellations he knew. Still none of those stars would be as beautiful as the glances her eyes gifted.  _

But he settles for telling her about Myrcella and Tommen - she’d asked about them, and whether they’d be going back to the gym anytime soon. He was sure Tommen would want to return, he’d been smitten with  _ kind Brienne _ , and Myrcella seemed happy enough to try out something different from the dreadful classes that Cersei had them attending. 

He tells Brienne about how he wishes he could be a better uncle to them both - how he’d barely been around London and them when they were younger, he had been too busy travelling around,  _ wasting his days away  _ as Tywin put it. But after his trip to Japan, he’d become inspired to put the Lannister name and power to better use, and he didn’t like to admit it to his brother nor the rest of his family, but he rather enjoyed the work. 

Jaime admits that he doesn’t know what Myrcella’s favourite colour is, nor her favourite band, but he knows that Tommen loves cats and most animals, really, and his sister seems to tolerate them fair enough. So he agrees that it’s a good idea to bring them to one of the city farms, and she suggests the one in Hackney, which doesn’t have cats, but it’s central enough and close to Broadway Market, which she mentions that has good vibes on Saturdays. 

She speaks fondly enough of it that he decides that if not now, then when - “Do you reckon you’d want to go there, Broadway Market and Hackney City Farm, next Saturday? Cersei isn’t back for another few weeks, and I think Tommen and Myrcella will be bored of Tyrion taking them to museums. I could really use an extra pair of eyes on them.” 

It isn’t a date, she reminds herself, he hasn’t said it was a date. Jaime says it casually, almost like an invitation for a whole group of friends to hang out, and she says, why not, because she likes Tommen and Myrcella seemed like a sweet child. She almost turns around to ask if Sansa and Margaery have plans, whether they’d like to come along, but Jaime interrupts before then. 

“I’ll take the car, we’ll probably swing by the gym in the morning, and then we could park somewhere near the farm and walk over to the market for lunch. Isn’t that where there’s a pretty decent fried chicken burger?” 

_ So it was just them _ . She knows Jaime drives a coupe in London, she’s seen it parked outside the gym on some weekends, and there’s no way that car takes more than four. But it seems almost rude to ask, so she doesn’t. 

Brienne tells him about other places she enjoys going to on the weekends,  _ he’s probably just asking because he’s out of touch with the city and needs places to bring his niece and nephew to _ , but he doesn’t seem to think it odd when he makes plans to head to Richmond Park on the following Sunday. Together. And she agrees again, because she doesn’t really have plans for the break apart from working at the gym. Plus, it’s always been one of her favourite places to wander and get away from the bustle, even if it gets decent footfall on the weekends in spring. 

Jaime tells her about The Kernel, his favourite brewery, which happens to be a short walk away from the gym, and is astounded when she admits that she never knew they were so close even though she’s had a couple bottles of their table beer at a few restaurants she’s been to. 

He tells her that they make great sours, and how he has a bottle of a damson saison which was from a batch they made a few months ago, and that she has to try it sometime. They don’t decide on when sometime is. 

\--

The next time they meet, Tyrion joins Jaime at the gym on a Tuesday evening, even though she knows he’s usually at Riverrun. Except that both Tommen and Myrcella have extracurricular music lessons on Tuesdays which are held near London Bridge, and there isn’t enough time for him to have dinner while they’re there, so Tyrion settles for a late table and Bronn working overtime. 

Arya’s at the gym, so Brienne’s not surprised when Jaime goes over to join her by the hangboards, where the teenager is just finishing up her session. 

Tyrion, however, asks her to join him as he attempts some of the new routes that Robb set earlier that day. 

He asks her about the trip, because Jaime told him very little of interest, gushing over the routes and the walks and everything that Tyrion doesn’t care very much for. “Jaime said he told you about what happened at the Alps.” 

His words were carefully chosen, he hadn’t mentioned Aerys specifically, but the solemn look in his green eyes said all that needed to be said. 

“He hasn’t told anyone about it,” Tyrion continues, “And I was surprised when he told me yesterday that he talked to you about it. It’s been years, but I think he still feels that it’s a story that isn’t meant to be shared. Which makes it all the more unusual that my brother talked about it with you, but I suppose you are an unusual human being too.” 

Brienne shrugs slightly - as she always does when Tyrion goes off on one of his monologues. The dwarf is articulate, his words always measured, and she always feels lacking in eloquence when she considers her responses, but he is a good enough conversationalist that he makes sure she doesn’t have to.

“Something about being amidst beauty that makes it easier to talk about difficult things,” she says softly, thinking about how she’d told Jaime about Galladon.  _ And she wonders, if it was time she sent a message to Galladon, or to her dad asking about Galladon, rather than just let him be _ .  _ The longer it was, the harder it became to broach the topic - she wonders if not talking about her brother makes him feel any less than he is, and she realises she doesn’t know it for certain, she doesn’t even really know him anymore, just who he was. And who he wanted to be. _

“My brother, he’s not like most men. He falls very deeply, cares very deeply about things and people he decides to dedicate himself to, and he doesn’t make that decision lightly. He’s always been that way. He’s dated a few people, but they never quite got to know that side of him. To the casual observer, he’s distant and aloof, but he’s got the best heart of us all.” 

She knows this. She knows this from the way he asks about her, and what she wants for herself, how he listens when she’s told him about the things that were hard to talk about. But there was some magic about being in a camper, with quiet in the air outside, and the length of the nights to while away. Brienne knows that it was one of the reasons why Jaime decided to buy the van and convert it into a camper. 

So he could have a getaway anytime he wanted, anytime he needed it. Whenever the noise of the surroundings got too much, there would always be someplace different, someplace quieter, just someways on the road away. It was a reminder, a connection to his previous lifestyle, however far away it seemed now that he had decided that London would be his home. 

Brienne nods. “Jaime… Jaime’s not quite how he seems on first impressions. Underneath all that jibing and teasing, he’s one of the kindest people I’ve met.” 

“One of the kindest people you’ve met? Funny, he said the same about you.” Tyrion chuckles, and the familiar gleam lights up his emerald eyes. 

She startles, but tries not let it show, even if she knows her blush gives her away. 

“My brother isn’t easily taken by the ladies, but he has only said wonderful things about you, Brienne. Have you considered him? I know he’s more than ten years older than you, but he doesn’t look it, does he?”

She’s taken aback by Tyrion’s forwardness, not that her Lannister friend is ever not so, but it wasn’t a conversation she thought she’d be having. For a moment she lets herself wonder if Jaime had said something more than he had let on, but she remembers Tyrion’s penchant for teasing.  _ That must be it _ . 

“Nonsense, Tyrion, we’re just friends.”

\--

“How was Font?” Jaime says in between two rounds on the circuit, which he’s integrated into his warm-up on Arya’s recommendation. 

“The best thing ever. The boulders there are special - it’s not like Cornwall or Dorset, the problems are unusual and there’s really nothing like it, I get the hype now. It was a little cold some mornings, but it was such beautiful weather. We’ll have to go there sometime!” Arya gushes about one particular V8 boulder which she had tried for two days, and how it was still a little mossy from the winter wet, but one of the older guys at the training camp, Benji, had shown her the beta that he had worked out with his younger sister who was of a similar frame to Arya, and she had nailed it on her first try afterward. 

She tells him about the gym that they trained at on the one rainy day during the camp. How it wasn’t like their gym, the walls were polished wood and the holds were a lot grimier, but it made it more challenging. Jaime knows that Arya has a penchant for smearing the walls even when the route didn’t necessarily call for it - she makes the excuse that if you can smear the walls then footholds aren’t needed so it’s really training - but Robb often chides her for taking advantage of the shoe rubber and avoiding practising her footwork. 

She tells him about how difficult it is to smear on wood, and how she picked up some new tips about the angles of pressure which she thinks has helped improve her smearing technique even more, and how she’ll show him how to do it. 

Arya’s equally impressed when Jaime manages to flash a V5 route - he’d been projecting them before the trip - but his footwork had improved tremendously after climbing outdoors, just as Robb had said. He’s a lot more confident on the slabs than he had been previously, and he simply remarks: “It’s easier to take gambles when you know that there’s plenty of mattress to fall on.” Compared to the crash mats they’d had for the last few days, the mattresses feel like giant marshmallows welcoming them into an embrace. 

“Oh, and I went for a competition last Friday. It was a national competition, but there were some climbers from Ireland, I think.”

“Eh? How did it go?” 

“I placed second for the juniors! And that means I get to compete in this competition in Berlin in August, which Mum has agreed to let me go to.”

“Arya, you should have said that earlier! That’s awesome! Was it your first time placing that high in a national comp?”

She shakes her head. She’d won a national competition a few years ago, for the U-13 age group, but it  _ doesn’t really count _ , since most people don’t really take climbing seriously at that age. “They only really decide that they want it when they’re 14, 15, I think. But I guess that’s changing these days.” She looks thoughtful for a moment, but shrugs and says, “Berlin’s more for exposure, I guess. Coach Mormont - he’s the head of the national training programme, he says that they’ll probably extend me an invite for a year come September. But it means that I need to go for centralised trainings four times a week, and I’ll probably need to put in more time in my conditioning for lead climbing before then.”

Arya’s not done lead climbing seriously for a year, there aren’t many walls with good lead routes nearby, and their gym doesn’t have enough space to have roped walls. She looks a bit apprehensive as she talks about taking up lead climbing again, but there’s a fierce determination on her face as she says  _ it’s just something that needs to be done.  _

She grimaces slightly as she mentions how speed climbing will be part of the centralised trainings as well, but it’s something that none of the current members of the team are very invested in. 

Jaime’s read enough and watched enough videos to know that speed climbing is the black sheep of the family. He doesn’t quite get the appeal of the sprint to beat the clock, it seems like something that requires a different skillset from bouldering and lead climbing, but Arya explains that it’s part of the Olympics competition format, which is why everyone’s forced to pick it up and be at least decent at it. 

“Will you have time to come to Berlin in August and watch me compete?” 

“I’ll make time.”

\--

Brienne’s making dinner in their apartment on a Thursday evening when she smells a familiar rose fragrance in the air. It’s Margaery’s date perfume, even if her friend wears rose scent every day, this one has a hint of vanilla and is less green than her usual daytime wear. 

She pokes her head out of their kitchen, and sure enough, Margaery’s got a green dress on and two pairs of heels in her hands. “Wedges or slingbacks?” 

“You’re asking the wrong person, Marg. Isn’t Sansa in?” 

Her friend rolls her eyes, but bangs on Sansa’s door clumsily with her elbow. 

The redhead takes one look at her and squeals. “You’re going out with Robb, aren’t you? Brienne, I told you -”

“What?” “What?!” 

Brienne and Margaery both answer in a mix of horror and disbelief, as Sansa meets their confused looks with a knowing twinkle. 

“Well… Robb was asking me what you liked to eat, so I told him to pick a nice Italian place, and he did - it’s that pasta place which you love with the wine selection. And you’re wearing that perfume you only do when it’s a hot date, and he asked me if he should wear a white or blue button down, so, it makes sense.”

“Sansa, you’re rambling,” Brienne laughs, but she sees that Sansa was right after all - there was something going on. She turns to Margaery expectantly, and folds her arms in mock displeasure. 

“Alright, alright. I didn’t want to say anything because it’s weird, right, I mean, we’ve been friends for forever and he’s also your brother, I don’t want things to be strange if this doesn’t work out. But Robb and I talked about it, and I think we’re both adult enough to still be friends if dating isn’t right, so yeah, why not.”

“Marg, that’s great! Robb’s way better than that Alex guy you dated, plus, if he’s awful to you, I’m sure Catelyn will have your back.” Brienne hugs her, beaming proudly. Alexander Carver had been one of the most charming boys at Margaery’s school, and they’d met a couple of times when he’d travelled to London for a game. But like most boys who were rich and had some success, he was arrogant and too self-absorbed, and had cheated on her with a girl he met in Manchester, where he was based now. 

“Well, it’s just our first date, so we’ll see how it goes! Alright, I’m meeting him at the tube in five, I should probably head off. Don’t wait up!”

\--

He finds himself taking too long deciding on a change of clothes for after their climbing session on Saturday. He usually just tosses a clean t-shirt and a pair of jeans for after, especially if he’s going to drive, but he finds himself unable to pick between a linen shirt and an oxford button down. 

He hears two soft taps on his door - only Myrcella does that. “Come in, Myrcy.” 

Sure enough, his niece pokes her head in, and wrinkles her brows when she sees him peering at his closet, with the two shirts hanging on the wardrobe doors. 

“The navy linen shirt is more casual, the oxford shirt’s going to be a bit warm for the farm, isn’t it? Plus, Brienne’s probably going to be in blue, so you’ll match. It’s not a hard decision, Uncle Jaime.” 

“Hmm, good point,” he agrees, as he puts the grey oxford shirt back into the closet. “Wait, what..?” He feels almost embarrassed now, realising that Myrcella knew he was deciding on what to wear for their date - if it could be called a date with two children in tow, two children whom she wasn’t really all that much older than. 

“Uncle Tyrion told me I’m going to have to be a good wingwoman and steer Tommen away from Brienne when he’s taking up too much of your attention. Don’t worry, Uncle Jaime, I’m pretty good at it. Plus, Arya told me that you’re always hanging around Brienne at the gym. You really shouldn’t be so obvious if you like her!” 

“I… well, I like her. But no, none of that wingwoman nonsense. We’re just going out to have fun, plus she knows Broadway Market and that area better than I do, so why not?” He folds the linen shirt, smiling to himself as he replays Myrcy’s words,  _ they’ll match _ , and catches himself. “Don’t embarrass me?” 

“Your secret’s safe with me.” 

But Myrcella also insists that he shouldn’t take someone on their first date without a gift, so she makes up an excuse for Jaime to run off to a nearby florist to pick up a small bouquet of tulips before they head off to Hackney. She and Tommen distract Brienne, asking to try on a few pairs of shoes, even though both their feet are slightly swollen after the climbing session. 

But instead of letting them do so, Brienne explains that there’s not much point in trying the shoes then, since their feet are both sore, and instead shows them a few models of beginners’ shoes that they should try the next time they drop by. She even goes on to explain the different types of shoe rubbers, and Tommen is visibly intrigued by this, running his hands on the soles of the shoes to see if he can discern any difference. 

Before long, Myrcella sees a text on her phone, a thumbs up from Jaime, and grins. “Uncle Jaime’s waiting for us outside! Let’s go!” 

Jaime doesn’t realise it’s been so long since he had given anyone flowers - and he had picked up tulips. Myrcella had sent him a message saying that tulips in varying colours meant  _ beautiful eyes, _ and he remembered Brienne mentioning to Sansa that tulips were practical, non-finicky flowers. The bouquet he holds is a mix of red, pink and purple tulips - he’d considered some yellow and orange tulips originally, but Myrcella said a firm  _ no _ to the yellow, since they meant unrequited love. 

He stands outside his car, a black coupe, not flashy yet alluring in its understated elegance, in his navy linen shirt and khaki chinos, and hopes he doesn’t look too silly holding the b ouquet. 

But he looks silly anyway, when she comes out of the gym with Myrcella and Tommen. She’s wearing a navy shirt-dress close to the shade of his shirt, and from her gentle blush, he knows she realises they  _ match _ . He laughs, partly at himself and partly because she looks slightly embarrassed as she approaches him. 

“These are for you, my lady,” he half-bows, and hands her the flowers, his fingers grazing hers as he does so. 

“Jaime, you didn’t have to. Now you’re making me feel silly.” 

“I had to. Myrcella says that tulips in different colours mean  _ beautiful eyes _ .” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to include more of their date, but it was getting a little long, so I suppose it'll be a few days before I ramble about the fun things at the Hackney City Farm! Hope it was a satisfying chapter, and thank you for all the love and support :) This has been such fun to write!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne go on a date, with Myrcella and Tommen as chaperones. 
> 
> All Jaime wants to do is care about her, and he isn't afraid of letting everyone know that.

Jaime holds back a laugh when he realises how much Brienne has to adjust the front passenger seat. It's usually Tyrion who sits there, if anyone's riding shotgun at all, and the seat was so far forward that Brienne's long limbs were all squashed up against the glovebox. 

She holds the bouquet of flowers, and tries to forget the last time she was given them. He isn't Hyle, she tells herself, _he is Jaime_ , and he has only been kind to her thus far. But some part of her still holds the fear that it is all an act of pity, as much as she tries to let herself believe otherwise. 

Ever since the episode with Hyle, she's never let herself think too much of flowers, even if she had grown up loving the vibrance and fleeting beauty of the blooms around the farm. They never had tulips, they wouldn't have survived in Pembroke, but there was one spring when she had visited relatives in the Netherlands with Galladon and her father as a child. The tulips happened to hit full bloom then, and she remembers telling her brother that they were wonderful flowers - hardy enough to be carried around without the fear that a petal would fall off, yet delicate in its own way. But there was no way for Jaime to know that. It was a mere coincidence that he happened to pick them - perhaps a mundane enough reason like them being the first thing he saw. 

But he had said that they meant beautiful eyes, which he keeps telling her, and she tries to let herself believe that he means it every time. 

Jaime's a good driver, she learns, and unlike most motorists she has encountered, he gives cyclists a wide enough berth, and even slows down on a couple of occasions for them to pass, even when he has the right of way. 

She makes small talk with the two children - Tommen tells her about how his two kittens have their own little corner in the room that they share, and how Uncle Tyrion has cursed one too many times when Ser Pounce jumped into his bed. Brienne laughs, because she can’t imagine Tyrion as a cat person, but Tommen absolutely is, and she wonders - _is Jaime_?

Myrcella asks her how long she’s been climbing, and tells her that she’s way better than Jaime, to which he quickly retorts: “It’s not been two months yet!” 

He’d told her when he first came to the gym, that he’d be better than her in two months. It was a week shy, but she knew she was probably going to win that bet. Not that Jaime wasn’t one of the quickest learners she’d seen come in, but it had been a lofty suggestion to begin with, and part of her is relieved that he hasn’t gotten past her yet. But it wouldn’t be long, she suspects, with his ever-improving footwork and knack for the mantle moves that Robb was so fond of setting these days. 

“How did you start climbing?” 

Brienne pauses, and exchanges a look with Jaime inadvertently, before she turns around to reply. “My brother used to take me, when we were young. I lived on a farm in Wales, and there were boulders nearby.” 

Just before Myrcella can ask the inevitable question about Galladon, Jaime manages to find a parking spot near a residential complex between the farm and the market, and looks over to Brienne just as she is about to get off the car. She seems relieved, but looks down at the bouquet in her lap, slightly unsure.

“You can… leave them in the car if you’d prefer, but it’s a little warm today, I’m not sure if they’d wilt quicker if you did,” he mumbles. Jaime doesn’t have to glance to the back of the car to know that Myrcella’s glaring at him - he was clumsy with his words, as he seldom was, but only with _her_. 

“Nah, I think they’ll fit in my tote bag,” she replies, shifting the spare t-shirt in her bag to make room for the bouquet. “Plus, I’m sure tulips aren’t quite so delicate.” 

The market is crowded - Brienne tells him that it usually is on Saturday afternoons, with plenty of fresh produce and food stalls open. The street is pedestrianised for the market, and many market-goers have their dogs in tow. He catches her looking happily at a golden retriever, and wonders if she’s a dog person. 

Tommen that he wants a grilled cheese sandwich, while Myrcella has settled for pasta, and Brienne insists that they have to get the fried chicken burger from a stall at the front of the market. Jaime was eyeing a mushroom risotto, but after Brienne emerges from the queue triumphantly with a massive burger that is absolutely glistening, he decides there’s no way he’s not trying it. 

And she’s right, like she’s been with a lot of things - it is the best damn fried chicken he’s had, burger notwithstanding. It’s a brioche bun, which is the trend these days, but the stall is generous with the portion size. 

“I told you, it’s the best. There’s plenty of great things around this stretch, and I always tell myself I’ll get something else the next time, but I always come back to this.” She has a satisfied smile, her large lips coated in oil from the fried chicken, but all Jaime can think about is about how good she’d taste on his lips, and him on hers. 

She leads them down the stretch to a stall with plenty of packaged meat cuts laid out atop ice blocks - most of them pork and beef, with an array of sausage options. But Brienne scans the spread quickly and reaches for a packet of smoked pig’s cheek, and another wrapped in paper which has no label. 

The man tending the stall looks at her knowingly, and says: “Been a while, Brienne! You’re lucky, we don’t have any more smoked cheeks, and we’re not going to have them for a while, I think. We’re getting new smokers soon. That’ll be 8 pounds. Do you want some sausages?” He doesn’t wait for her to reply, as Brienne cobbles together some change, and tosses a pack of pork and fennel sausages. “New boyfriend? Nice to meet you, I’m Joe. See you around!” 

Brienne doesn’t get to say _he isn’t my boyfriend_ , before Jaime grins broadly and reaches across the table to shake Joe’s hand and takes the bag of meat from him, with Myrcella and Tommen glowering behind. 

“I’m sorry - Joe’s just friendly, and he’s tried to set me up on a date with his younger brother a couple times… Don’t mind him.” She’s blushing, more than he’s seen her do so before, and he almost feels embarrassed looking at her. Jaime continues holding the bag of meats, refusing to let her take it back from him as she reaches out, and meets her gaze with a sheepish smile. 

“It’s fine, it’s plenty light. So what’s that in the other package?” 

She glances at Myrcella and Tommen for a moment, and both of them are looking at her curiously as well. “It’s pig’s head. I know, it sounds weird, but it’s ridiculously good on toast, and they don’t have it often so I get it every time I see it.” 

Tommen wrinkles his nose at the sound of pig’s head, and Myrcella is too polite to make a face, but Jaime looks intrigued. “Bronn had a pig’s head starter once, pig’s head with sourdough and mustard seeds. It was really good, but he said it was too much trouble to make regularly. I don’t think he’s brought it back since.” 

“Well… if you like, I could let you try some if you come by the gym tomorrow, it’ll probably be my lunch. Got to have it fresh, you know?” 

“Then let me get the bread.” Jaime stops in front of a bakery which smells like the best mix of freshly-baked loaves and roasted coffee beans, and motions for them to wait outside. It’s a tiny store, but Brienne’s has had their cinnamon rolls in the past, and they were fairly decent. It’s not as good as a bakery near her apartment, which mixes some treacle along with the butter and brown sugar, but it wasn’t a bad roll at all. 

She can’t help laughing when Jaime walks out of the store with a bag with two large loaves of bread tucked under one arm and a tray with three coffees on it. Myrcella and Tommen groan a little, because Jaime looks too pleased with himself, and he’s smirking like he’s won the lottery or something. 

Myrcella takes the bread from him, and raises her eyebrows when she peeks inside. There’s a couple of doughnuts in there as well, and Jaime says, overexcitedly: “They had malasadas! Stuffed doughnuts!” 

Brienne takes a cup of coffee from the tray, as he tells Myrcella to share the latte with Tommen - “He can’t have a whole cup of coffee on his own, he’d be up all night,” Myrcella explains helpfully. 

Jaime’s still beaming when they find a bench at the park next to the market. “I was in Hawaii a couple years back, and I had too many malasadas there. It’s one of the most popular treats there, and there was this cafe-restaurant on the Big Island which I would drop by almost every day to get one. The bakery happens to have a guest from Hawaii for the month, so they’re doing malasadas this weekend. My favourite’s the haupia, it’s a coconut filling - I got two of those, and two chocolate, since the kids love everything with chocolate.” 

He hands her one of the stuffed doughnuts, and she takes it from him, half-laughing at the childlike wonder that has taken over the usually-laid back Lannister. 

It’s sweet - Brienne doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, so it comes as a bit of a surprise when she finds herself actually enjoying the malasada. The filling is smooth, it’s a coconut custard almost, and not too cloying. 

“It’s really good!” She subconsciously licks her lips, where some of the filling has spilled over. 

She looks over to see Jaime using the side of his right thumb to wipe Tommen’s chin, where the boy has unwittingly gotten chocolate cream all over. It’s a tender moment, Jaime looks almost fatherly in that light, and his golden brows are furrowed as he mutters that Tommen’s probably got more chocolate on his face than in his mouth. 

“My Uncle Jaime’s the sweetest, isn’t he?” Myrcella looks at Brienne, and the teenager’s sudden murmur catches her by surprise. “Would you date him?” 

Thankfully for Brienne, Jaime turns around, and winks - _of course he looks even more charming when he winks_ \- as he stuffs the rest of his doughnut into his mouth. 

They walk over to the farm next, and it’s smaller than Jaime thought it’d be, but he reminds himself that they’re in the middle of London, and there was no way a farm with free entry would be able to sustain a large plot for long. 

He’s amused when Tommen starts following some of the chickens around and Myrcella takes a video of him doing so, and they peer curiously at the ducks who quack angrily in return. They’re city kids through and through, since Cersei thought that the countryside was tiresome, and Robert never deigned to take the children anywhere. 

Myrcella stays with Brienne when she takes a moment to stare idly at the cows, and tries to make small talk with her. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier… It’s just that Uncle Jaime hasn’t dated anyone for the longest time, and even when he did, he never talked to us about her, so this is new to us. I hope it’s not too much?”

“No, it’s fine, it’s just that… Jaime and I, we’re friends, you know? He’s very nice, but I don’t think it’s really heading that way for him.” Brienne realises that there’s a larger age gap between Jaime and herself than with Myrcella - the girl is six years younger than her, though it doesn’t really feel so, she speaks as though she’s a bit older, and Arya seems a lot more childish in comparison even though the two are of an age. 

“He’s never this nervous around women. He couldn’t decide what shirt to wear, for goodness sakes, but I told him this navy shirt would definitely match with you. Blue suits you, Brienne.” 

Brienne blushes again, less so this time, but the thought of Jaime being nervous for this, even though they’d spent so much time together recently, was strangely sweet. 

“He’s too handsome to date someone like me.” 

“I don’t think Uncle Jaime thinks that way. He always says that you’ve got the most beautiful eyes he’s seen. Plus, looks don’t matter. My brother, Joffrey - we don’t talk about him around Tommen - is good-looking and all, but he’s pure evil.”

It’s the first time that Brienne’s heard Joffrey’s name. Tyrion had mentioned that Cersei had three children, but he had only spoken about Myrcella and Tommen at length, and she never felt it appropriate to ask. 

She considers for a moment if she should ask Myrcella, but the younger girl continues. “Joffrey used to bully Tommen. He’d hit him when no one was around, he’d leave bruises where no one could see, and he killed all of his cats as well. He’d strangle them, starve them, the works. But it’s okay now. Grandpa had him sent to a boarding school in France, after he ran into some trouble at school, and he’s now studying in New York. I don’t think he’s ever coming back.”

\--

It’s the first time that Jaime’s been to the gym at lunchtime.

It’s surprisingly busy, but he chalks that up to it being a Sunday. Brienne is sitting on a stool behind the counter, looking at tables of figures which looks like her exam notes. For someone who’s graduating in two months, she’s surprisingly relaxed, he remarks. 

She tells him that barring a fail for any of her papers, she’s on track to graduate with a respectable second-upper, and a first would require too much effort and luck. 

Brienne’s already prepared a sandwich for him. Two, he realises. 

“I was inspired after you said Bronn added mustard seeds to his version, so I thought I’d give it a try too. So there’s two versions here - one’s with wholegrain mustard, and the other’s just pig’s head with a bit of extra pepper.” 

He bites into one - and recognises the familiar hit of cracked black peppercorns - and the pig’s head is different from what he remembers from Riverrun. It’s more thickly sliced, and less seasoned that Bronn’s version had been, but it’s wholesome and rich without being too heavy on the palate. 

The other is more balanced, Jaime thinks. The mustard helps to cut through the fattiness of the pig’s head, and the seeds provide a nice bit of texture as well. 

“I preferred the one with mustard seeds myself,” Brienne says, and Jaime lights up in agreement. 

Another gym-goer comes through the door then, and she excuses herself with a sheepish smile, moving towards the computer to register the visitor. 

Jaime scans the gym - Robb and Margaery are at the overhangs, but Sansa is nowhere in sight. He hadn’t seen the Tyrell girl all week, but Robb had been busy setting new routes over the mornings that week. 

He hadn’t asked about Margaery - the Stark boy still seemed a little guarded in their conversations that strayed away from the walls, but he had gotten some tips for the new overhang set. There was a route that he was excited to get on, and he knew it’ll be a good challenge to pitch to Brienne - who could complete it first - since it had a double gaston off awful sloping holds. She didn’t like the gastons, especially since she had tweaked her left shoulder on one a couple weeks ago. 

It was on the long crimpy routes that Brienne excelled, with her superior stamina and conditioning, and impeccable footwork. Jaime didn’t enjoy the crimps, even though Robb said it’d get better with time as his fingers got more accustomed to the strain, but there were a few new routes which had Brienne’s style all over them. 

\--

It wasn’t until he was about to leave the gym that he saw Brienne again. But she looked distracted and distant, and her eyes were slightly red. 

“Hey, I’m just about to make a move, but… are you alright?” 

She shrugs, but gestures to one of the new hires, Podrick, to man the counter as she steps outside. Jaime follows her, eyes slightly narrowed. 

“My dad called earlier. It’s Galladon, he’s… being transferred to a hospital in Cardiff. He’s not been well for a while, but he’d refused to see a doctor until my dad found him unconscious this morning.” 

“Shit, I’m sorry… is he ok? Do you want to go to Cardiff?” 

“I’ve booked train tickets for tomorrow morning from Paddington. I’m not sure how bad it is, Dad didn’t say much over the phone, but it doesn’t sound good. I don’t know, it’s just been so long since I’ve talked to Gal, and you know, maybe this could have been prevented somewhat.” 

“Come on, I’ll give you a lift back. Your shift is over anyway, you should get some rest.” 

She doesn’t protest as she gathers her things from a locker, and Jaime speaks quickly with Robb, who looks at her sympathetically and nods. Podrick, who looks about eighteen, nods rapidly when Jaime tells him that Brienne isn’t feeling too well, and Jaime lets out a small smile when the boy replies “Yes, sir” with all seriousness.

Jaime takes her backpack and puts it in the back, and opens the door for her to get in. He notices her bike’s still chained inside the gym, and makes a mental note to ask Loras or Margaery to take care of it. 

In the car, he suggests that she stay over at his place for the evening - he lives closer to Paddington, and it’d be safer for her to travel from his than to take a night bus from her own place the next morning. She nods gratefully, knowing that there’s a spare room in his house, and he was right about it being less shady. 

Loras and Renly are in the apartment when Brienne unlocks the door, and they’re packing. There are several cardboard boxes in the living room and the corridor, and a pile of stuff next to tied-up trash bags, presumably to be discarded.

Brienne goes to her room and tells him “she’d just be a moment”, while Loras pokes his head out into the corridor and shoots Jaime a puzzled look. 

“She’s going to Cardiff tomorrow, and her train’s from Paddington, so I thought it’d be safer if she stayed over at mine. The night bus from here to Paddington at 5am isn’t the best idea.” 

"Cardiff?" Renly's face grows dark. "Is it her family?" 

Jaime nods hesitantly, not knowing how much he should reveal. But Brienne emerges from her room, with a larger backpack and a fresh change of clothing. 

He grabs her windbreaker which was hanging in the corridor, it was due to rain in Cardiff for the next few days, if the weather forecast was accurate. 

"I'm good to go."

\--

She doesn't say much on the drive there, but she tells Jaime that her train departs Paddington at 5.02am. 

Brienne looks smaller, hunched up and hugging her backpack. He notices that she's brought the sleeping bag he gave her as well, and wonders if she plans to sleep on the floor in the hospital, wincing at the thought. 

It's a quick drive, and Jaime is thankful for the quiet streets on a Sunday evening. He asks if she wants to stop for a quick dinner, but she shakes her head, and he doesn't push it further. He puts on the audio book, letting the familiar intonation fill in the gaps in between, hoping that the lack of silence is of some comfort to her. Brienne hasn't received more texts from her father, even though she keeps checking it for updates. 

He realises that Tyrion and the kids are at home when the lights are turned on. He drives into their small garage space, past the hatchback which Tyrion usually takes, and tries to read Brienne's expression. It's the first time she's seen his house, even though he's told her about living in Kensington in passing. 

They live close enough to some of the foreign ambassadors to have flags hanging outside their neighbours' homes, although the Lannisters' four-storey house is decidedly more understated than the other homes along the street. But if Brienne was surprised, there was nothing in her blank state to suggest it. 

Tyrion opens the door even before he rings, but his brother is observant enough to notice that something's not right. "Why don't you wash up first? Jaime, get her a towel. I'll get some fresh sheets and pillows."

While Brienne's in the washroom, Jaime heads to the spare bedroom next to Tommen and Myrcella's, but the light isn't turned on. He opens the door, and realises belatedly that they had moved both spare beds into the other room, and there was only a couch in the room. _Shit,_ he realises, and leaps up the stairs to the top floor. 

He has taken both rooms, with one as his study and the other his bedroom. His study has a daybed, but he knows that it's too short for Brienne to fit. 

"You forgot that we shifted the bed, didn't you?" Jaime hears his brother's voice behind him, and turns around with a resigned look. 

"I'll let her take my room. I just changed the sheets this morning anyway, I can sleep in the study."

"Yeah, I wasn't going to suggest the other way around. I'll leave the pillows to you then. I don't suppose you two have had dinner? Myrcella and Tommen wanted pasta, so we went out earlier. There's still some bread, and I think we should have eggs and milk. And cereal."

"I'll figure it out. The kids, they're sleeping?" 

"Beats me, but we went to the Tate earlier. What happened?" 

Jaime swallows - it's not his story to tell, and settles for the shortest explanation. "She's taking the early train to Cardiff tomorrow to see her family. Departs Paddington at 5."

Tyrion raises his eyebrows at the timing, and senses from Jaime's worried expression that he wasn't going to leave it at that. 

"And you're driving her to the train station, I presume? It's a bit of a walk."

"I was thinking I'd go along. She needs someone with her."

\--

Brienne's eyes are swollen when she emerges from the washroom in her sweatpants and a hoodie. Jaime passes her a sandwich - almond butter and raspberry jam - and she just about manages a weak smile when she realises he’s remembered her spreads of choice. 

He’s bought his own ticket to Cardiff as well, and a hotel room for a week near the train station. Jaime decides she doesn’t have to know till the next morning, she’d try to convince him otherwise, but he’s made up his mind anyway. 

“You can have my room tonight. The sheets are clean, I just changed them this morning. And we can set off at 4.30, it’s just a 10-minute drive tops.”

She sits on his king-sized bed, atop the luscious white Egyptian cotton sheets, and eyes his pillows carefully. They look fluffy, and there’s a faint musky smell that is distinctly Jaime. His bedroom is surprisingly sparse, with just a fencing mask hanging on one side, a large wardrobe, a rocking chair, the en-suite toilet and a small table. There are a few photos on the table, one of him and Tyrion when they were much younger, a faded one of a woman who looks like she could be his mother carrying two babies, and one of Jaime himself at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. 

Jaime’s standing by the wardrobe, looking at her tentatively. “Sorry it’s a little messy… anyway, I’ll be next door, so just knock if you need anything. There’s a fresh towel in the bathroom for tomorrow.” He places a flask of water on the table, and turns to leave. 

“Do you mind staying for a little?” 

Her voice sounds smaller than she normally does, and Jaime nods, moving towards the rocking chair. He lowers himself into it as she carefully gets under the covers, hugging her knees to herself. 

“He has stage 3 Hodgkin’s lymphoma. My dad says that Galladon doesn’t want treatment, and that he’s known about it for a while… but he didn’t want to talk about it.”

Jaime moves over to the bed, cautiously sitting on top of the covers, and places his right hand on her intertwined fingers. 

“I don’t know what to do, Jaime. I don’t know if it’s right to try and convince him to get it treated, because it is still treatable, even if it’s not what he wants. But he’s been living a nightmare for what, eight years now, and what’s the point of just extending that? Is it fair to undergo painful treatment in the hopes he can continue sitting in his room for the rest of his days?”

She’s sobbing now, given up on holding her tears back, and leans into Jaime’s shoulder. He wraps his arm around her, his heart is _aching_ , wishing he had the right words to say. 

“My mother and my two younger sisters died in a car accident when I was eight. Mum had driven to Swansea to visit our relatives, and they were barely a year old then. We scattered their ashes in the sea off Pembrokeshire Coast. Galladon said then that when he went, he wanted to be taken by the sea too.” 

She’s mumbling now, not really looking for a response from Jaime, and he holds her closer, as she melts into his embrace. “I don’t know what to say when I see him, Jaime.” 

“You’ll find the right words. He knows you care about him, Brienne, and that’s always enough.” 

He wants to tell her that she is the strongest person he knows, and her strength is enough for the people she cares about. And that it matters not what she thinks cannot do for her brother, because she is always doing her best for him, and it would be enough.

But Jaime knows that's not what she needs at that moment. Instead he takes her into his arms, lets her cry until the front of his t-shirt is soaked with her tears and infused with all of  _Brienne_. Eventually her sobs quieten and her shoulders relax, and he senses that she has fallen asleep. He gently pulls her arms away from his torso, and fluffs a pillow before resting her head on it. "Don't leave, not again," she mumbles in her sleep. Her expression is pained even in her slumber, and Jaime knows she's dreaming of Galladon again, the same way she had dreamed of him when they were in the Peak District. 

 _"I am always yours,"_   he whispers, as he tucks her in under the covers, kissing her lightly on the forehead as a promise.

\--

Brienne doesn’t stop him from going with her to Cardiff, and it’s a good thing he does, because she was going to sleeping in a bag on the floor of Galladon’s hospital room. He meets Selwyn Tarth, and the large man with the same blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes as Brienne looked weary and in need of relief. 

Jaime doesn’t meet Galladon because he refuses all guests that aren’t his father and sister. There is little he can actually do, but he finds himself holding Brienne whenever she needs him, tells her it’ll be okay when she needs to hear it, and reminds her to eat when she has forgotten how much time has passed. 

He talks to Selwyn when Brienne's in her brother's hospital room. The elder man's hands are weathered from labour, and even hunched, he is a good few inches taller than Jaime. He doesn't ask about how Brienne came to be in the company of a Lannister, but instead engages him in conversation about his work, and tells him about how a pig farmer a few miles from him had good words about Lannister Group's head of agriculture operations. Jaime knows that the conversation is a good distraction from his worry about his only son, and talks about his experiences on the farms abroad, and asks Selwyn for advice about dealing with smaller operations like his own. 

They circle back to Brienne, eventually. 

"You care about my daughter." "I do, very much." 

"She's my only daughter, and she isn't like most girls her age. I know she doesn't want to take up the consultancy jobs, but... I can't help it, you know, I just don't want her to regret her decision if she gives it up, and finds out she can't quite get back there if she ever wants to. But climbing will always be part of her life."

"Brienne will make a decision which is right for herself, she's the most level-headed person I know." 

"Pardon my bluntness, but you're a good way into your thirties, aren't you?" Selwyn examines Jaime carefully - even though he looks in his twenties, there's a hint of grey that has crept into his well-groomed beard. 

"I'm thirty-five this year." 

"And you like my daughter, who's more than 10 years younger than you." 

"I care about her. Does my age bother you?" Jaime meets Selwyn's eyes, wishing they weren't the same blue as Brienne's, but they  _aren't quite_ , he reminds himself.  _Brienne's are more electric._

"Not if you're true about her, Lannister."

Brienne doesn’t try to convince Galladon that he should seek treatment. Her brother decides that he will, if more for his father than himself, and promises his family that he will live differently. She's worried all the same, because there is still so much of his life he will never regain, but Brienne decides that it is better than nothing, and at least he has laughed like the Galladon of old. He requests to meet Jaime just before he is discharged, which Brienne hesitantly accedes to.

“Thank you for taking care of my sister.” “It’s only right, Galladon. I’m Jaime.” He reaches his hand out, and he notices how thin Galladon’s arms are when he returns the handshake. It’s obvious that he is a tall man as well, but his limbs are shrunken from the lack of use. 

“Please help me take care of Brienne, when she’s back in London. I’ll be okay, tell her not to worry. I’m moving to Swansea, there’s a treatment facility there that the doctors have recommended, and there’s some physiotherapy planned as well. You were the one who contacted the therapist, weren’t you?”

“A friend of mine recommended Dr Qyburn. He happens to be working in Swansea for the next few months, and he has done some good work in the past, so it made sense. And don’t worry, I will make sure Brienne’s well. Take care, Galladon. I hope to see you again soon.” 

“Thanks, Jaime. One thing though - if you hurt Brienne, I’m coming for you.”

“I’m sure you will. But rest assured, I… care about her.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tweaked the rating and tags a little - there will be some darker stuff to come in the future chapters, so some warning on that. In the next chapter, Jaime and Brienne return to London, and have a conversation about what their trip to Cardiff means for them. Also, Cersei comes back. *pow-wow*
> 
> Comments and kudos, as always, mean the world. Happy mid-week!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’m sorry" isn’t the right to say because there are no apologies to make for friendship.

"I'll visit soon, I promise. I'll be done with my exams by the end of May, I'll go home then," Brienne says, hugging her father tightly as Jaime helps to load Selwyn and Galladon's bags into the car they've rented for the journey back to Pembrokeshire. The trip back would have required a change of trains, and even if Selwyn was a strong man barely over fifty, Galladon's wheelchair and the bags would have been too much. 

"Of course. And maybe, if Gal's feeling up to it, we could take a trip into London. See how my daughter's been living, eh?" 

Brienne laughs shyly, wiping a tear from her eyes - she's afraid, unsure of how Galladon's treatment will go, even though the doctors said that he had a chance of recovery if he started chemotherapy soon. But she knows that she needs to be strong, for her brother and her father, and she promises them that she'll call back soon. 

"Take care, Gal. Text me, call me, anytime, you know?" She embraces her brother - all skin and bones of him - and reminds herself that she cannot cry in front of him, but she hears a soft sob that Galladon doesn't hold back. If he could stand up straight now - but a combination of the drugs the doctors had put him on and two spinal surgeries had robbed him of that - he would tower over her, his blue eyes equal to hers, his handsome face nothing like the freckled disaster she was blessed with. 

She wishes she had done more, had been there for him after his surgeries, been there to encourage him when he went for therapy. Maybe he would be able to walk on his own enough to breathe in fresh air every now and then, and he'd be happier.

But she had failed him. And as much as he told her that he was okay, and he'd be okay, it didn't make her feel any more assured. The chemotherapy would only weaken him further, the doctors were not entirely optimistic that treatment would work out and couldn't answer definitively how it'd affect his spinal issues. 

"Live your best life, Brienne, don't worry about me." He pulls away from her, his large hands unfamiliarly soft. His calluses, carefully built up from years of climbing on real rock, had long faded. "I'll take care of Dad." 

She manages not to cry as Selwyn gets into the driver's seat of the small sedan they've rented, and as they wave their goodbyes. She doesn't tear at all, until Jaime puts his hand on her back, and tells her "it's okay to let it out now". 

And she does. She's always been uglier when she cries, her face turns ruddy, her blue eyes - the only redeeming factor of her being - lose their spark, and she can't help the loud, choking sobs.

\--

Jaime decides that they’re renting a car to drive back to London. The train tickets are exorbitant, given it’s Sunday and there are rail works which have led to the cancellations of half the services. It’s cheaper to rent a car, he points out, and she doesn’t disagree. 

Brienne is quiet for the first hour of the drive, gazing out blankly for most of the ride till they stop in Bristol for a break. 

She thinks of Galladon, of her father, of how the farm looks. Her father had told her before they’d parted that it was  _ ok _ if she decided to accept Catelyn’s offer - it was her decision and her life, and he only wanted her to be happy with whatever she chose, he said. And she knew that she’d always had her mind made up, although she still had yet to give Tyrion an answer.

She glances at Jaime, his handsome face slightly thinned from the last week. He had been there for her in the mornings, when she tried her best to conceal her bad night of sleep; he was there at meal times, making sure she had food when she had no appetite; he waited for her in the corridors when she was visiting Galladon; sat by her side in the evenings and reminded her to sleep, woke her up when she had a nightmare. 

Yet they had not spoken about why he was doing all of this for her. Feelings were a foregone conclusion by this point - but the conversation was not something she knew how to broach, and judging from what she knew of Jaime, it was not one he was familiar with either. 

_ Thank you _ almost feels too little for all that he has done in the last week.  _ I’m sorry _ isn’t right because there are no apologies to make for friendship, she remembers him saying.  _ I need you _ was already conveyed in all the times she cried out in her sleep and quietened only by his presence. 

The last few days had passed in a flurry. Brienne remembers the moments by touches: How Galladon felt brittle in her arms, her father’s clammy palms against hers when the doctors spoke to them in hushed voices, and Jaime’s tender comforts when she felt like falling apart.

The car is idle - Jaime decides that it’s better to take a break before noon and goes to buy them sandwiches for lunch, even though Brienne insists she isn’t hungry - and she looks at the empty driver’s seat. The car smells faintly of Jaime and his musky aftershave, as does most of her clothing in her backpack. 

The door opens, and he slides in - holding a grocery bag and two sandwiches. “They only had tuna… so I got some snacks, if you didn’t want the sandwich.” She peers into the bag, and can’t help the smile - her first real smile in days - when she sees a box of raspberries and a carton of almond milk. 

“Jaime, you didn’t have to.” She doesn’t notice how his expression softens as she says his name, and how it rolls off her tongue in the way he knows is his weakness. 

“I wanted to. Brienne, I know we haven’t…” “I need to thank you.” She interrupts him, and looks at him evenly, with a focus he hasn’t seen in the last few days. 

“For going to Cardiff with me, and making sure everything was okay. You didn’t have to. I’m sorry for the trouble, it must have been terribly disruptive for your work, leaving so suddenly. But I…” 

“I wanted to, Brienne, I will always want to.” Jaime sets the sandwiches aside, and takes her hands, as large as his own, and holds them gently. “I know we haven’t known each other long at all, but I care about you. I’ve rarely felt this way about people I’ve met, I haven’t felt this way in a long time, and I want to be here for you. So let me.” 

“You’re a good friend, Jaime. But it’s too much.” She tries to pull her hands out of his tender hold, but he doesn’t let her. 

“It’s not too much, nothing is too much. I’m telling you, Brienne, I care about you, and I want to be  _ with  _ you. If you’ll have me.” 

Her mind is telling her he’s too handsome and too perfect to be with someone as plain and ugly as her, and that what he feels for her is merely pity and kindness out of the goodness that is his heart. So she tells him  _ no _ ,  _ it is not right _ . 

Jaime doesn’t let go of her, insists that  _ I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to _ , but all she can think about is how no one has ever considered her worthy of care and concern like Jaime is telling her he does. She is acutely aware of how he is more than a decade older, how he is a  _ Lannister _ , destined for great things and to be with someone as beautiful as him. Not someone like her. So she tells him,  _ no,  _ she is merely  _ Brienne Tarth _ . 

Jaime’s face falls, and his eyes, the same sparks that have been the brightest light for her in these awful times, grow dark. 

“But I am in love with you,” he says softly. He leans closer, his lips just one crimpy hold away from hers, and looks at her in the eyes. Requesting her permission. 

So Brienne lets herself believe, for the first time in what feels like her whole life, that Jaime is not just being kind and taking pity on her. 

She meets him, presses her lips gently to his. Jaime’s lips are as soft on her own as they were on her forehead, and he tastes of tart raspberries. He doesn’t probe beyond the contact, but just holds her hands firmly, giving her his promise. 

She finally pulls away with an inadvertent gasp, but he doesn’t let go of her hands, even then. Their calluses rub against the backs of each other’s hands, like they match, somehow. 

“I’m not sure of how this should be,  _ Jaime _ .” She wonders if his name sounds different as she says it, now that she’s thinking about how the syllables form on her lips, and the cheeky grin on his face tells her that  _ it does _ . 

“Neither am I, but we can always figure it out.” 

\-- 

Robb’s surprised when Jon texts him to say he’ll be back for his shift the next day, without any further details as to when he got back to London and whether he’d be leaving again. 

“Where’s Ygritte?” Robb can’t help himself, breaking into a grin as he approaches Jon, who’s cleaning the espresso machine. 

“She’s still in Glasgow.” Jon doesn’t turn to look at him, and he’s clearly in one of his broody moods again, judging from the slumped shoulders. 

“Then why are you here?” “We’re taking some time to decide what we want to do, and she’s negotiating a work contract, so.”

Robb’s never known Jon to be wishy-washy when he has decided on something, and he had chosen to delay his return to London, which was the clearest indication of what he wanted. So he prods further, even though he knows Jon is annoyed. 

“I like her, but I don’t know if I like her enough to just leave everything that I’ve got here. I could always find a gym to work at, but it’s different - the indoor scene in London is more competitive. It doesn’t make sense to move, not at this point in time. But there’s also no work for her here at the moment, so if anything, it’ll be long-distance for a bit.” 

He picks up a bag of coffee beans from behind the counter, and pours them into the grinder, implicitly closing the conversation. 

Robb nods, and doesn’t probe more. It hasn’t been that long since Jon had met Ygritte - although he knew that his cousin was the sort that would move quickly, and perhaps a little impulsively in some cases, although he was heartened that Jon seemed to be level-headed on the matter. He couldn’t quite imagine how it’ll be like, making a long-distance relationship work, given how little they knew of each other. But time, it didn’t really matter in these cases,  _ did it? _

\--

Sansa and Margaery are at a cafe near campus when they see him out of classes for the first time. 

Margaery gasps, but not in the good way. He towers over most of the people in the shop, and several step out of his way when he stands behind them.  _ It’s the scowl _ , Sansa thinks, although Margaery insists it’s the scar on his face, which makes him look like he’s been in too many fights. 

But Sansa knows that Sandor Clegane isn’t one of those brutes that are off fighting in alleys any chance they’ve got, like Margaery claims. 

He’s gruff and brash, and his permanently angry expression doesn’t help things. But he’s been nice enough when she’s spoken to him, and that’s what she decides to say hello when she sees him waiting for his coffee. 

“Hey,” she ventures, as she gives the barista, Tim, a thumbs-up to tell him that she wants another cup of her usual - a flat white, extra hot.

“Hi.” He’s curt, as usual, but she knows it’s gentle by his standards. 

“Come here often? Don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” “Not usually, but they’re out of soy milk at the library cafe.” 

Sansa looks at him curiously, unable to decide if he’s lactose intolerant, vegan or one of those who decide that soy milk is  _ healthier  _ than cow’s milk. 

He doesn’t say anything that gives her a clue. 

It’s not the last time that they meet there over the next week - he turns up every morning and afternoon, and she’s parked there because there’s not much space in the library by the time Margaery arrives on campus.

She manages to get a sentence out of him each time. Margaery asks why she bothers, but Sansa realises she doesn’t have a reason why. She’s curious, she tells her friend, and Margaery rolls her eyes. 

Which is why they’re both surprised when he turns up at the climbing gym on Friday evening, asking to rent a pair of shoes in the largest size they have, which just barely fit. 

Sansa’s about to show him around the gym when Jaime yells his last name, loud enough over the music, and Sandor looks up abruptly. His brows are raised when he sees the golden Lannister, but he nods his head towards Jaime in acknowledgment. 

Before she can ask, Jaime saunters up to the counter. "Sandor Clegane, never thought I'd see you here."

"Long time, Mr Jaime." He looks slightly annoyed, but eases up when Robb takes him around the gym and goes through the safety briefing with him. 

Jaime notices the confusion on Sansa's face, and quickly explains their acquaintance - Sandor's brother, Gregor, was his father's long-time head of security, and Sandor had worked in the security team during his term breaks and the summer. Last year, after Tywin furiously fired one of his guards for being late twice in a week, Sandor had stood in for the two months it took his brother to find a replacement. 

The younger Clegane brother was a mature student, Sansa quickly realises - which explained why he rarely mingled with the other course mates. 

But despite Jaime having spent a good amount of time with the man, he admitted he knew little about him. Sandor was a man of few words, but all Jaime knew was that he was not a mindless brute like his awful brother, but it was also what made Tywin keep Gregor Clegane around for so long. 

\--

Tyrion insists that Bronn cooks dinner when the chef takes a rare day off and visits them at their home. "A special treat for Myrcella and Tommen before Cersei returns," he'd stated, knowing that the two Baratheon children were too charming for Bronn to ignore. 

Plus, he thought Cersei was awful and he felt bad for the children, like everyone else who ever had to speak to her. 

So Bronn decides he'll make their entire house smell like steak and chips. Except, being the fancy-pants he is, he decides he needs to do chips three ways. 

"You know, this was supposed to be  _ easier _ . Why do I always end up bending myself over for you Lannisters?" Bronn finishes peeling the chips to be triple fried in beef fat, and checks on the roast potatoes in the oven. The gratin is halfway going, and he looks pleased enough with things. 

He joins Tyrion and Jaime in the living room, where the latter is reading a magazine. As always, Tyrion had a glass of red wine, and he poured out a glass for the chef as well. 

"So, where's the giantess that you invited the other time?" 

Jamie's eyes flicker up at the mention of Brienne, and shoots Bronn a glare. 

"You've got to admit she's extraordinarily tall, brother. Bronn's right, though - where's Brienne? Thought she'd be over a whole lot more often after you came back from Cardiff." Tyrion refills his glass, and gestures to offer Jaime one of his own, which he dismisses. 

"She needs her own space too." Tyrion and Bronn laugh, and the chef remarks: "I've never known you to date, Jaime. So what's so special about this girl? Bit young, bit unusual looking, very tall, but so?" 

Jaime pauses. He can't quite express why Brienne's special - except that she's kind, honest to a fault, and she is principled. More so than any of them. But he doesn't owe Bronn nor Tyrion a justification for his fancy, and he simply shrugs off the question. 

"She's Brienne Tarth."

"Cersei's not going to be happy when she finds out. Have you forgotten about our sweet sister?" Tyrion's eyes turn dark as he thinks about their sister - who has never taken well to any girls that Jaime has fancied, and all the things he has known her to say to them, the actions she has deemed necessary behind his brother's back, and their father's blatant nonchalance through it all. 

Jaime knows that Cersei is manipulative, domineering and jealous when it comes to things she believes to be hers. Which includes him, whether he acknowledges it or not. But he doesn't believe that Cersei actually meddles in his personal life, no, she just wants to be in control of Lannister Group and matters that concern her, and his love life -  _ surely that was none of her matter _ ? 

He wonders if he'll ever tell Brienne that Cersei was his first kiss. 

They had been eight, and Cersei had wanted to practise for the most handsome senior in their school. "What if he kisses me, and I don't know how to kiss him well enough? I can't be the laughing stock of the school!" 

Jaime had been too young and naive to realise that it wasn't really something for a eight-year-old to be concerned about, nor did he fathom that Cersei planned to be the one initiating that kiss. So he agreed to help her  _ practise. On the lips, gently, roughly; French, until he learns that Cersei's tongue is more pointy and longer than his own, even though they were meant to be two halves of a whole and the same in every way, or so she said.  _

It wasn't just one kiss, but it was his first kiss, and he never thought it weird until he turned thirteen and kissed the prettiest girl he saw at summer camp. And when she asked if she was his first, he had to say no,  _ Cersei was, _ and all he knew was that Alyssa was sent home for being a  _ slanderous liar _ , or at least, that was what Tywin Lannister would have everyone believe. 

He never saw Alyssa, nor heard of her again. But Tywin made sure that no one else ever knew that the twins had ever had improper relations again, and Jaime paid the price for it when he was forced to follow Tywin to the office for the rest of the summer. 

\--

Cersei’s flight landed at noon. It shouldn’t have taken her till nine in the evening to come by and pick up the children, but it did. 

“Can we stay with Uncle Jaime next weekend?” It’s Myrcella’s first question, not  _ how was your trip  _ or  _ did you miss us, Mum?  _ Cersei looks annoyed, as Jaime had expected, but he looks at his sister too-fondly. “I’m free and the room is set up for them?” He ruffles Tommen’s hair - all too similar to his own, floppy and a little too long, and his nephew wriggles away, but looks at his mother to plead his case as well. 

“The room? Not rooms?” His sister looks angry, even though Jaime cannot figure out for the life of him why, and he folds his arms. “Yes, room. Singular. They liked it, Tyrion and I thought it was a good idea, so we ran with it. They’re happy.” 

“Uncle Jaime, are we still having dinner with Brienne this week? She promised, but we haven’t decided on a day.” Tommen suddenly looks at him, and Jaime  _ knows _ Brienne was bound to come up in conversation eventually, but he didn’t want this to be embroiled in everything that Cersei was going to unload on him.  _ Cersei doesn’t share _ , Tyrion had told him far too often, and Jaime had always shaken it off. _ Perhaps not this time _ . 

“I’ll check with her? But yes, we will have dinner. I  _ promise _ .” Tommen extends his right pinky, with a childish grin on his face, and Jaime takes it in his own. 

“Tommen, Myrcella, go upstairs for a bit. Your Uncle Jaime and I need to talk for a bit.” 

Jaime sighs, but flops on the couch in the living room as Cersei takes the seat opposite him, her green eyes flaring. 

“Who’s this Brienne person? And I thought you would take good care of them, not take them to silly places like climbing gyms and markets. Yes, I saw their Facebook posts.” 

“Brienne’s…”  _ He wants to say girlfriend, but would it be presumptuous? He settles,  _ “is someone I’m seeing. They’ve had fun, and Tyrion’s taken them to museums. They’re teenagers, you can’t just coop them up at home when they don’t have classes to attend.” 

Cersei eyes him suspiciously, but catches herself. “She’s quite ugly, isn’t she,” she says slowly, observing her brother. 

But Jaime is used to the  _ ugly  _ comments from Bronn and Tyrion, and frankly, he doesn’t really care. “Does it matter, Cersei? Anyway - I promised them dinner, so that’s probably Tuesday. And I’m happy to take them for the weekend, if you didn’t already have plans.” 

“One dinner. I’m not having my children spend that much time with some woman you happen to be taking pity on for a bit. Jaime - how old is this  _ Brienne _ ?” 

“She’s 22.” He winces a little as he says it, knowing that Cersei would harp on it.

“Liking them young now, aren’t you? Funny though, the Lannister name is enough for you to get anyone you’d like, if you would just clean up a little and not tell people you’re living with your dwarf brother. You’re still pretty enough, if you’d bother. Didn’t she grow up on a farm or something?” 

“It’s none of your business.” Jaime growls, and gets up from his seat. He’s had enough, he decides, he doesn’t turn back when Cersei says his name -  _ Jaime, come on  _ \- but he doesn’t like how it sounds coming from her, almost shrill. 

\--

Jaime buys Arya a pair of boot bananas as a good-luck gift before she leaves for Berlin. 

She laughs, but chucks out her old pair at the end of their training session. “How did you know I needed new ones?” “I’ve been smelling your feet from the other end of the gym, Arya. Not sure these actually work, if they smell that bad.” 

She shrugs, and stuffs them into her shoes. 

“Are you excited for Berlin?” 

She’s been at the gym less since coming back from the training camp, since she’s having to attend centralised trainings with the other members of the team now. He’d driven her to one of their training gyms in East London when she was running late once, and she was definitely one of the smallest members of the team. 

But he has seen how she's improved in just a couple of weeks. She's gotten better at the lock-off moves, and is smoother on the coordination moves, using her core more than she used to, and her swings are more controlled when she inadvertently has to cut her feet from the wall. 

It shows in her confidence approaching new routes, not that the Stark girl has ever been lacking in confidence, but she has started to have a quiet command in the way she moves on the walls.

“It’s a new experience. I’ve seen some videos of how they usually set in Berlin, and for competitions like this one, and it’s definitely different from what I’m used to, so I guess I’m just going for the exposure.” She brushes lint off her shirt, looking distracted as she mumbles a reply.

“You know all that talk about going for exposure is always bullshit.” He looks pointedly at her, and she sighs, knowing he’s right. “You’re going there to do well, remember that. You’ve got this. Being new to it can be a good thing.” 

“Plus, I’m only flying in for the finals on Wednesday. If you’re not there, who would I be shouting obnoxiously for?” 

\--

Jaime insists that they go out for brunch on Saturday, even though the gym is packed with the weekend crowd. Robb, Jon, Loras and Podrick are around, but Brienne feels bad about just taking off like that, since she was on shift. “I have  _ responsibilities  _ to people that aren’t myself, Jaime.” 

He looks at her, and mimes being wounded in the chest. “Wow, Tarth, just because I don’t have a roster doesn’t mean I’m not actually working.” 

She laughs as she grabs her wallet and phone from a locker, tossing Jaime’s t-shirt which has been sitting in there for a couple of days. She knows he’s been busy. He’d been in contact with her father since they’d left Cardiff, and had been enquiring about a possible partnership with some of the livestock farmers on the south-eastern coast. A visit to several dairy farms near Narbeth was in the works, according to Selwyn, even if Jaime had not spoken about it.

They rarely talked about what he did at work - he was very adamant that time out of the office should be dedicated to  _ life _ . In the few hours they spent together out of the climbing gym, they’d been to markets, street stalls and several football matches. She was an Arsenal fan, which surprised him -  _ a little out of left field, Tarth  _ \- he’d had her pegged as a Swansea fan given how close she had grown up to the city. Or even Cardiff, perhaps. 

But no, Brienne had sheepishly admitted that she’d fallen in love with Arsenal when she was barely eight and watched the Invincibles sweep through the league, and the very handsome Robert Pires had captured her heart.  _ So you like them Frenchmen with dark hair?  _ She would insist that they watch the matches when they weren’t 3pm games, and Jaime would oblige. They’d been to the stadium for a game, and Jaime had grudgingly put on a red and white scarf. He’d never heard Brienne’s voice as loud as she was for the two hours in the Emirates. 

In turn, she’d added notifications for Leeds games, waving recaps of goals in his face when he’d missed them and wearing white whenever they were playing. Jaime insisted that she wore one of his Leeds jerseys when she went over to his place for dinner once, and she didn’t reject him. 

After brunch at Maltby, he brings her to a row of units underneath railway arches a few streets away - where his favourite brewery was. The staff give him a polite nod of acknowledgment, they have a partnership for Riverrun and several other restaurants that Tyrion deemed  _ worthy _ . They buy two bottles of Saisons, a sour cherry and a damson which Jaime raves about, and Brienne has to agree she’s never had anything this fruity without being cloying or flat. 

She finally tells him about Tyrion’s offer when they’re on their way to her place. He’s driving, so he’s quieter than usual, but she guesses that he wants her to tell him what she wants. 

“It’s a good opportunity - to do something besides the gym, but I’m not sure what I really have to offer. It almost feels like I’d be blowing hot air and depriving some good people of important opportunities.” She fiddles with the edge of her sweater, in the way she only does when she’s nervous. 

“Think of it this way - you could also be giving a chance to those who Tyrion and other people may have overlooked? Are there any ideas you have in mind?”

“I’m don’t think I’m qualified enough to provide a valid opinion on coffee plantations, Jaime. But there is something I’ve been thinking about - and maybe it’s worth exploring with Tyrion and some of the cafes under the company? To do something about coffee culture and the appreciation of the bean to drink, and looking beyond the characteristics of countries and their produce, but all the other factors that contribute to a good brew. More informative than profitable, but that sort of thing.”

“You should talk to him about it. Tyrion’s not all about the profits, even if it’s important.” He glances over reassuringly as he stops as a traffic junction, and smiles. “It’s a good idea.” 

She refuses to let him stay for dinner after he drops her off at her apartment. Tywin had booked a table at one of his usual places for dinner, since Cersei had returned from New York, and insisted that the entire family was present. 

“You know I would much rather have cold sandwiches with you.” He whines playfully, begging to be let into the flat. Jaime puts his foot in the door, but she shakes her head. “How often do you even have dinner with your father and sister? It’s only right, Jaime.” 

“There you go about what’s right and necessary again, B.”

“That’s because it’s important. Now shoo, you’re going to be late. Traffic’s going to be awful around the Piccadilly area.” 

“That’s only if I drive. Why don’t you lend me your bike? It’ll be much quicker, and I’ll be able to avoid the jams. I’m a decent rider, I promise, I won’t get it stolen.” 

Brienne’s rarely been able to say no to him when he looks at her pleadingly. 

She’s right, the traffic towards Piccadilly is awful, presumably taxis headed towards the theatres, but it’s also a Saturday evening, so everything is happening. It’s been a long time since Jaime had ridden on the streets, the last had been in Copenhagen, because it made sense and the drivers were more courteous there. 

He understands why Brienne hates the commutes during peak hours - most of the motorists completely disregard the fact that there are cyclists on the road, cutting them off instead of giving way, and come dangerously close to swiping him off on a couple of occasions. 

Her helmet smells faintly like mint and rosemary, like her hoodie always does fresh out of the laundry, and Jaime makes a mental note to take one of her pillowcases when she next washes them. 

He doesn’t notice that a heavy vehicle has lost control at the roundabout ahead. It’s too late when he realises that he’s right in the vehicle’s path, and it slams into him just as he tries to dismount the bike. There’s a car next to him, a small hatchback, which take some of the impact, but Jaime is sent flying and all he remembers is the agony when something runs over his right arm. He screams, but he can’t hear his own voice, just the thudding of his heart and someone yelling at him to stay awake. 

He just about glances down at his arm, which feels like it’s exploding in pain, before he passes out - all he sees is dark red. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime would not be the same person if he never lost his hand, and as sweet as this!Jaime is, I’d like to explore his character as one who feels incomplete. You know the next chapter is going to have to deal with some not-so-pleasant stuff. I apologise in advance :(
> 
> There are some untidy rambles in this chapter - I wish it could be cleaner, but I got carried away. And the Jon/Ygritte bit feels a bit awkward to me as well, I do promise to give that a bit more development in the later chapters to come. Let me know what you thought about the introduction of Sandor, and what you'd like to see from Robb/Margaery, and of course, Cersei and Tywin in the next chapter as Jaime deals with the aftermath of his accident. 
> 
> Boot bananas are these banana-looking shoe deodorisers meant for climbing shoes. They’re supposed to work.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime deals with the aftermath of his accident, and in doing so, he remembers how it feels to trust, and what care feels like.

Brienne’s heart falls when she sees an unknown number on the line.  _ Galladon _ ,  _ no, not Galladon _ , she thinks, and her hands are shaking when she answers it. 

“Miss Brienne Tarth? We’re calling from the University College Hospital. A Mr Jaime Lannister was admitted this evening, and you are listed at his emergency contact. Please come down immediately, he is currently undergoing surgery. Reception will let you know which operating theatre he’s at when you register.” 

_ Jaime? Hospital?  _ She tries to ask questions, find out what had happened, if he's okay, if it's critical, and whether he was awake when he was taken to hospital. 

But the caller is curt, and merely says he's not in immediate danger, and she eases slightly, although the lack of an answer to the other questions unnerves her. 

She calls Tyrion, but his phone goes to voicemail, and she sends him a flurry of texts, and one to Bronn too, in case he has some other way of contacting the younger Lannister. For a moment she considers letting Myrcella know, but she decides against it.  _ A sixteen-year-old shouldn’t be the bearer of such news _ . 

As she gets dressed, she can’t help but try to imagine what could have happened to Jaime. She’d had many near-misses on the roads, especially during peak hours, and he was an inexperienced rider. She should never have agreed to it,  _ it was my fault _ .  _ Please be okay, Jaime.  _ There were enough awful reports of cyclists getting hurt on the roads - many of them fatal - and she prayed, over and over, that the same gods keeping Galladon safe would do the same for Jaime. 

She runs to the tube station, thankful that the hospital is just three stops away on the Northern Line. She breaks into a sprint once she gets back into cell signal zone, and she glances at her phone - Tyrion’s seen her messages.  _ I’ll be right there _ .  _ Call me if anything. _

The receptionist is unable to tell her anything more, except that he was involved in a road accident and has been in surgery for the last hour. She sits outside the operating theatre - the smell of the hospital all too familiar and sickening - and waits, hoping Tyrion will arrive soon. 

He does so before Jaime is out, looking hurried and anxious. “What happened?” 

“He was in a road accident. He was riding my bike… to your dinner… I think it must have happened then. Wait, where’s your father and Cersei?” 

Tyrion looks pained at the thought of Jaime getting hurt while on a bike, but his face turns to disgust when she mentions his family. “They said to call them when he was out of surgery. Continued their damned dinner, because why not, right? For fucks sake, I guess that's family.” 

He talks to her, even though she’s too sickened with worry to hold much of a conversation, and casually remarks that he isn’t surprised that Jaime made  _ her  _ his emergency contact. She’s too distracted to notice the comment, twiddling the edge of her hoodie as she stares at the surgery theatre doors. She tries not to think about the last two times she was sitting in a hospital waiting room. 

It was for Galladon’s biopsy, and his spinal surgery the previous time. Both times had ended in the frowning looks from doctors, deciding how was the gentlest way to break bad news. 

Brienne doesn’t look the doctors in the eye when they emerge from the theatre nearly two hours later. Tyrion springs up to them, with a questioning look, and she stands slightly behind him. 

“Family of Mr Lannister?” “He’s my brother. How is Jaime?” 

“I’m sorry, he came in with his right arm in a really bad state. His shoulder was dislocated and his right hand was completely crushed. The shoulder will heal with time, and therapy will help. However, we’ve had to amputate two digits of his middle and ring fingers, and several tendons in his thumb were severed. His forearm was fractured, but that is fairly minor. He’ll be transferred to a ward shortly, and the anaesthetic will take a while before it wears off. A doctor will go around to check on him. Excuse us.” 

_ Amputated?  _ She looks at Tyrion slowly, trying not to let the tears well up too much, but she can’t help herself when he embraces her gently. “He was always the perfect Lannister.” 

“And he still is, Tyrion. Let’s go to his ward.” She doesn’t know how Jaime will take the news - he was always positive when she needed him to be - but Brienne had never known him to have a setback like this.  _ How would anyone, so used to being in full command of their body, take to losing part of them? And to know that no matter what they did, they would never regain that control again?  _

She’s horrified when Tyrion tells her, after a brief phone call, that neither Tywin Lannister nor his daughter will be visiting Jaime that evening.  _ It’s late,  _ Tyrion had spat,  _ and neither of them think this is important enough for them to sacrifice their sleep _ . 

Jaime was placed in a single-bed ward, on Tyrion’s request. It was more generous than Galladon’s had been, fitting for a Lannister. The younger brother had already made a call to request a specialist to see Jaime the next day, to discuss his follow-up treatment and therapy, and to know what could be done for his now- _ disabled _ brother.  _ Could it be considered a disability?  _

Jaime’s not awake when a doctor does drop by his room, but Brienne and Tyrion speak to her anyway, trying to get a sense of what his life will be now. 

_ He’d probably never recover full usage of his thumb, it’d be functional, but his grip would be weaker; his shoulder may be more limited in its movement, but nothing that would hinder his daily life; but the loss of two digits from his middle and ring fingers would be most devastating for him. The stumps wouldn’t be very useful on their own, but with time and practice he could possibly learn to write properly again, and drive.  _

A police officer comes by as well, wanting to take Jaime’s statement, looking slightly disappointed to hear that he was not awake. He isn’t young, and he looks weathered by the long hours and numerous accidents every day, and sounds disconnected when he tells Tyrion and Brienne about the accident. Jaime was fortunate, he tells them, that there was a car in the way - its driver had a fractured spine and a broken leg. The driver was arrested and facing charges the next day - but the news,  _ justice  _ in some sense, brought neither of them much comfort. 

“It’s my fault, Tyrion. I should have insisted he drive, not ride, it was a horrible idea and I enabled it. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… It’s never going to be the same for him.” She chokes on her sobs, and her head bent so low that Tyrion can barely see her red-rimmed eyes. 

He shakes his head, tells her  _ no,  _ she could not have done anything, and neither of them can do anything now, but to make sure that  _ Jaime is okay.  _

They agree to take turns sleeping on the couch that night, with the other sitting in the chair by Jaime’s bed in case he wakes. Tyrion falls asleep almost immediately after he spreads his small frame across the two-seater, and Brienne tries to settle in the armchair by the bed. She tries to think of what she should say when he wakes, and tries to hold her phone, a glass, the door handle without her middle and ring fingers. Her grip is clumsy as-is, and she knows that without the use of his thumb, it’ll be near-impossible to do anything.  _ I’m sorry _ , she whispers over and over, as she kisses his forehead, his cheeks, scratched up and small plasters over them. 

Jaime’s right shoulder is bandaged and his forearm in a cast that extends past his wrist to cover his hand, the thumb set in a temporary splint. Sleeping, he still looks like the golden lion he did when he left her apartment earlier that day, his angular jaw handsome in the faint light. 

She sees him stir slightly, and gets up as quietly as she can -  _ hey _ , she whispers, and she sees his eyes flicker towards her for a moment. But it’s not before he eyes his own right arm, and  _ what’s left of his hand _ . He doesn’t reply her, even when he holds her gaze for a longer moment. 

Brienne wonders if he feels any pain - the nurses had said that he would be numb mostly, but there was some inevitable dull throbbing. “Hey,” she tries again, “You’re awake.” She pours him a glass of water, and puts a straw in it so it’s easier for him to drink. He tries to sit up, but being unable to put any weight on his right arm, it’s clumsy, and he sinks onto the left side of his body sullenly. 

He doesn’t say anything as he drinks water slowly, from the straw, his eyes back to his arm.  _ He must have guessed the truth _ , she thinks, as Jaime looks at the stiff cast holding his ruined right limb together, the obvious gap between his index finger and his pinky. 

Brienne decides that it’s gentler to tell him the truth. 

“Jaime,” she starts, and puts his good hand between hers. “The doctors tried their best, but they… had to amputate part of your fingers. Your thumb will take a while to heal, but there’ll be therapy.”

His reply is a scream she’s never heard before - almost feral, and Tyrion startles, rushing to his bedside. “Jaime, Jaime,” he says, not finding the words to complete his sentence, and he tries to say words that his brother cannot find it in his heart to listen. “I’m sorry, Jaime, I’m so sorry. We’ll always be here, I promise.” 

Jaime looks around the room, emptier in the darkness, presumably looking for his father and Cersei,  _ surely they should be here _ , and growls: “Get out.” 

They refuse, but he repeats it, lower and more gruff this time, and Tyrion picks up his wallet and phone, motioning for Brienne to follow him. She shakes her head, and he sighs, leaving her in the room with his brother. 

“Go away, Brienne.” Jaime’s voice is softer this time, but his stare into the air behind her is unfocused and angry. 

“I won’t, and you can’t make me.” 

He pulls his hand from her roughly, and turns further to his right, with some visible discomfort,  _ away from her _ . 

She doesn’t sleep much that night, sitting on the couch, just watching over Jaime, as the painkillers the nurses administer take their effect once again, and he drifts back.  _ He’ll be calmer in the morning,  _ one of the night nurses says, clearly having heard his scream earlier, but Brienne shakes her head.  _ I’m sorry, Jaime _ , she whispers, more to herself than to his sleeping figure, kissing his forehead as she wipes his face in the morning. 

Brienne makes him a raspberry jam and almond butter sandwich, which he had only recently declared as his favourite breakfast. 

But Jaime is quiet when he wakes up mid-morning, and refuses to meet her gaze or acknowledge her presence even as she tries to coax him to take some food. He only speaks briefly when a policeman comes by to take his statement, and tells him that the driver’s trial will be in a few weeks, but even so, there’s a lifelessness in his eyes that Brienne wishes she could take away. 

Tywin and Cersei visit him at noon, if a ten-minute stop could be considered that. Tyrion leads them in, and Brienne stands awkwardly near the door as the older Lannister observes his heir. “You will move back in when you’re out. And we will discuss your work.” No comfort, no  _ how are you _ . She’s more shocked than anything else,  _ thinking about her father and Galladon and wondering how a father could find it in his heart to be so uncaring and cold towards his hurting son.  _ But she should have guessed from what Tyrion and Jaime had said, that Tywin Lannister was a businessman and a businessman only, and Jaime was not a son to him, merely the heir to take over his business and to inflate his oversized ego. 

Brienne bites back her anger further when Cersei wrinkles her nose, looking at Jaime’s arm with contempt. She speaks briefly with Tyrion, and Brienne sees from his expression that he’s fuming - his fists are clenched, and she knows he’d punch Cersei if he could. “See you back home, brother,” is all she says, spinning away without taking a second look at him, and Brienne’s heart aches, wishing she could find some way to make them redo their words.  _ He deserves more than this _ . 

She breaks the news to Arya by text, knowing that Jaime and the young Stark girl have formed a real friendship, and she would be angry if she wasn’t told. Brienne feels awful, because it was a distraction from Arya’s preparation, but the teenager calls her almost immediately after she sends the message. 

“Can I talk to him?” “You can, but he’s not really speaking at the moment. Maybe it’ll be better to text him. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to take your mind away from the competition, but I thought you should know.” “What? Of course I want to know. Is he okay?” 

“I’m not sure.”

\--

Visitors - just not the ones Jaime want - come in ebbs throughout the day. 

The specialist Tyrion had engaged says that the doctors did what they could, based on their reports, his hand was mangled badly and they had no choice, and it was a miracle they saved his thumb. He was looking at a good half-year of therapy at least, but Dr Pycelle seemed convinced that the shoulder would be alright. Brienne is relieved at that, because it was one of the rare bits of good news that they had received the entire day. 

Bronn comes bearing lunch - a multi-grain risotto with pumpkin and mushrooms, since the doctors had advised a gentle diet - and it is the only thing that Jaime agrees to eat, even if he barely has a third of it. 

The chef holds his tongue, only telling Jaime that he will recover and how he expects to have him attend his masterclass at Christmas.  _ I’m not making your turkey again this year _ , he half-jokes, but Jaime only stares blankly in return. Still, Brienne is relieved that he at least had some food. He’s still not speaking to her, looking past her and turning away when she tries to engage him, but she continues to fill his glass of water throughout the day, and washes his straw when she does so. 

Robb, Margaery, Sansa, Loras, Renly and Jon visit him in the afternoon with a stuffed toy - which looks ridiculous next to the fruit basket that Jaime’s colleagues had sent over. It’s a lion, meant for children above 12 months. Brienne lets out a small smile when she sees it, because it looks soft and somehow  _ very Jaime _ , but he simply turns away and doesn’t acknowledge their presence. 

Sansa and Margaery are shocked when they see his arm - it was worse than Brienne had described, they say in hushed voices outside his room, and Robb looks pained, clearly imagining how it’ll be to have the control of his hand taken away like that. 

“Cersei and Tywin haven’t been here much,” Renly says, more of a statement than a question, and his expression is hard. His own brother - a non-factor for years - was married to Cersei, even if their marriage seemed more like a farce than anything else, and Brienne rarely heard Renly speak of his connection to the Lannisters.    


She nods. “Barely 10 minutes. So much for family.” 

“Let us know what we can do.” Jon claps a hand on her shoulder, as the group leaves, knowing that Jaime would rather their absence. 

She sees him watching a video from Arya: She made the finals, she told Jaime, and sent him a video of Maureen Beck, a one-handed climber, and tells him that she’s going to win the competition. “I want to celebrate with you when I’m back, Jaime. We’re going to have a party. You’re going to be there, you have to. You promised. Rest well, I’ll see you soon.” 

Brienne remembers watching a video of Maureen climbing in Australia - how her arm, which ended abruptly at the forearm, was wrapped up in bandages and how it didn’t stop her from beasting the routes some able-bodied climbers would have given up on. And she knows Arya sending Jaime that video was probably the kind of kick he needed - he couldn’t wallow.  _ She wouldn’t let him _ . 

\--

The next few days feel slow, as only Tyrion and herself take turns to spend time with Jaime in his room. Tyrion smuggled Myrcella and Tommen in for a short visit one afternoon, after they had ended their music classes, and it was the only smile Jaime had mustered all week. 

But even the two children were unable to get much conversation out of him. Tommen tried, playing with the stuffed lion, trying to get a promise from Jaime to go out the next week,  _ anywhere you choose _ , but he just shook his head, staring blankly once more.

Brienne finds herself talking at him, telling him that there’s so much they’ve yet to do, and makes plans for them both that Jaime doesn’t agree to. But he doesn’t say anything, even when she tells him, playfully,  _ silence means consent _ . He pulls away when she tries to kiss him  _ hello _ and  _ goodbye _ and  _ goodnight _ , so she settles for pecks on his cheeks and forehead when he’s fallen asleep, still drugged up but on a lighter dose of painkillers. 

Jaime tries to stop her when she accompanies him to see the doctors before he’s discharged. “Tyrion’s not here, and you put me as your emergency contact, so you can’t actually say no,” she retorts, more sharply than she expected from herself, and he relents, and doesn’t reject her when she holds his hand in hers. 

Arya comes by with a medal in hand, and a card for him, by even then Jaime doesn't say much. 

_ Congratulations, you worked hard for _   _this,_ he just about squeezes out, but Brienne sees from his pained expression that it is merely a firmer reminder of all that he will never have for himself again. The teenage girl notices it too, and she tells Jaime that she's proud of him, for all that's he's going to do for himself, and tells him that he needs to be the finest  _less-abled_ climber in the gym. 

She doesn't mince her words, but Jaime's not a snowflake. He nods his head at her when she says that she'll see him in the gym before long, almost accepting the challenge, and Brienne is  _proud of him_. 

The doctors say that he’s recovering well, there was no infection that had set in, and give him some dates for follow-ups. Brienne notes them down in her calendar, and tells him that she’s going to accompany him for those,  _ and he is silent yet again _ . 

She doesn’t tell him she’s  _ sorry _ anymore - she just wants him to talk again, to look her in the eye, to let her hold him, and be a bit more like himself. But she says  _ I’m sorry _ when she knows he cannot hear,  _ I miss you _ when he’s fast asleep, and  _ I want to be here for you, so let me _ in her head, over and over. 

She writes him a note, which she sees him reading when she tells him she’s going for her final examination, and tries to hide the fact that she had been crying when she re-enters his room. 

_ Dear Jaime -  _

_ I don’t know what are the right words to say. Perhaps there are none. But whatever has happened, whatever is to happen, I am here, and I want to be here for you - just as you have always been for me. It is only fair, you’d say, and I am here, pleading my case.  _

_ I care about you. I always will. There’s so much more besides your hand, your arm - you are so much more than this. There’s so much more for us to do, together.  _ _   
_ _ So let me be here for you. I promise to be as gentle as you always have been.  _

“I’m ready to go,” he tells her, the first words he has said to her  _ gently _ , when she goes back in. She’s packed his small duffle, and Tyrion had arranged a cab to take them back to his home. Bathing supplies for Jaime had all been sorted out the day before - Brienne had made sure they had ample cling wrap for his arm, and there was a small chair in the shower for Jaime to sit on while Tyrion helped him, or at least that was the plan. 

Jaime takes her hand before she reaches for his left, and kisses her knuckles. 

_ I’m sorry _ , he doesn’t say, but kisses her again, on the lips this time, more tender than he usually is.  _ Or perhaps it has been too long _ , and she holds him gently, taking care not to squeeze too hard on his right. “I’m here, Jaime,” she whispers, and feels his body ease when she says his name. 

\--

She spends the next few days at Jaime’s - taking the room that Myrcella and Tommen have now evacuated, and takes turns with the children watching television with Jaime. It doesn't bother her that she's nearly a live-in nanny for him, but she knows he needs someone - Tyrion is too busy during the day handling both of their affairs, and she was done with her examinations. It was a miracle that she had managed to sit through them - although they required minimal studying, given they were case-based and she was decided on what she wanted to do at this point. All that was left was to wait for graduation, and to accept Catelyn's formal offer, which she had put off given Jaime and Galladon. 

Tyrion’s found a way to let the two children visit him, having convinced Cersei that they’re doing some volunteering which would look good on their eventual university applications, but they all know that she’s too busy with Lannister Group to care about whether her children were off attending some extracurriculars or not. 

Myrcella is visibly upset the first time she helps Jaime to wrap his cast and bandages with cling film before he goes to take a shower. She doesn’t dare to wrap them too tightly, afraid to hurt him, and Jaime becomes the one convincing her that he is  _ alright _ . But she leaves them too loose anyway, and his shoulder bandages get wet when he takes a half-hour to shower on his own. 

“I don’t want you to take pity on me.” Jaime tells Brienne one evening, as she’s massaging his right upper arm and his back, trying to loosen up the muscles stiff from holding himself in a position to not strain his shoulder. He’s lost mass quickly over the few weeks since the accident, from eating less than he used to and the lack of exercise. 

“What makes you think this is pity?” She shoots back, knowing that he’s almost back to his usual self. 

He motions her to sit, and she does, leaning back against the wall and resting at the foot of his bed. 

“I’m never going to be the same man I was. I won’t be able to hold a glass properly, cut my food up with a knife, write my own name legibly. Maybe in time, but who’s to say? I won’t be able to climb, can’t do all these things I used to love. Fuck, I don’t think I’m in a state to drive. You might as well take my car, it’s just wasting away right now. You’re 22, Brienne, you don’t have to do all these for me. I’m almost 35, closer to a cripple than a complete man. What are you doing? What are we doing?”

“It’s my fault-” 

He cuts her off before she can complete her sentence. “It’s not your fault  _ this  _ happened. You weren’t the irresponsible driver on the road. You weren’t distracted while riding a bike at night.  _ I chose  _ to ride the bicycle, and  _ I’m  _ the one who got hurt. You really don’t have to do this.” 

He unwraps the bandages around his healing stumps - where his fingers used to be are red, angry patches of skin with some stitches around them, and she inadvertently takes a deep breath as he does. His thumb looks bent at an awkward angle, and he doesn’t try to flex it, because he  _ can’t _ . 

“This is my hand now.” He holds it next to his left - in all of its untainted glory - and looks at her firmly. His green eyes are teared up, and Brienne tries not to let her own show, and he shakes his head lightly. “I’m not the man you chose to be with. I will never be that man again.” 

In this light Jaime looks smaller than she remembers him to be, shrunken and haggard from his restless sleep. He hasn’t told her about the searing pains he feels in the middle of the night, flashbacks of the accident and the agony when he remembers how it was before he lost consciousness.  _ How much blood there was _ . In some of his dreams he is swimming in red. 

Slumped in his cross-legged position, he is a fallen lion, a shadow of his old self, and looking closer to middle-age. 

“I don’t care, Jaime. None of that matters. You are still you, and you’re all I care about. You’re alive.” She bites her lip, and eases from her position to come closer to him. 

She puts the bandages back around his hand tenderly, stroking his palm as she does so. “I love you, Jaime, nothing else matters but you, and us.” 

He lets her hold him, her strong arms around him, easing all the weight he’s been holding atop his shoulders, and tries to let himself forget that he is  _ no longer whole _ .  _ It doesn’t matter _ , he repeats to himself, tries to believe. 

_ All that matters is you, and I, us _ . He wants to believe it, and so he doesn’t pull away when she kisses him, gently at first. 

She grips his good arm a little tighter as she searches deeper with her next kiss, parting his lips softly, craving his touch and his taste.  _ I missed this, I missed you, I missed us _ , she doesn’t need to say, and he reaches forward with his lips in return, tasting her - faintly of raspberries. 

With her it feels lighter, easier to ignore the fact that he still can’t take a shower without dropping the showerhead on his own foot; nor the fact that he can’t spread jam on his own bread without jabbing a hole in his toast. 

_ He lets her hold him, and tries to remember - this is important, and this is all that’s important. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a while agonising over whether Jaime would be losing his whole hand, and it was not the easiest decision. I hope this satisfies. Thanks for all the support, we’re in the second half of this fic now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can be in love with someone, but you shouldn't have to wear their chains.

He wakes up trying to turn the light on with his right hand - as he has for the last five years in this house, this room. But the lamp is no longer on the table to the right of his bed, but the left, and even if it was, there was no way his fist of bandages would have managed to pull the switch. 

Jaime curses, and rolls out of bed from the left. It’s the day of reckoning - an appointment with Dr Pycelle, to get fitted for his new shoulder brace, run a scan on his hand and forearm, and a short therapy session. 

Arya’s sent him a video - it’s from her competition in Berlin, but the clip had only just gone up that morning. He hasn’t seen her around much, since he hasn’t been to the gym, and he told her she shouldn’t take time away from her training to visit a maimed man. 

It’s her winner’s exit interview - of course it was - and Arya speaks briefly in German, which Jaime realises he never knew she could. But there’s a part of her interview, in English, looking at the camera, and he knows it’s meant for him. 

“A good friend of mine had promised to be here today, said he’d see me win even though I didn’t think I would. But he can’t be here today, because of a terrible accident. Jaime, this one’s for you. Thanks for always being there when I needed encouragement, for believing in me, this medal’s as much yours as mine. I’ll be waiting for you in the gym.” 

_ He tries not to cry _ , because he knows how hard the teenager would laugh if she knew, and also because he  _ shouldn’t be crying _ . He doesn’t think he’ll be back in the gym anytime soon, if ever, even if Brienne has been watching differently-abled climbers on YouTube with him endlessly. She points out how they weight their feet, position their bodies and angle their contact points differently, and has even taken notes  _ to remind him _ of all the pointers  _ when  _ they’re back in the gym. 

Jaime just nods and watches, because the way they move is beautiful, a beauty he wants so much for himself again. _Did I ever look this graceful doing anything?_ _Will I ever be that way?_ Brienne and Tyrion have done a good job trying to distract him from the self-doubt, chatting with him so he’s exhausted and falls asleep nearly immediately, and Myrcella and Tommen have been great occupying his time, but there are times where none of them can take from him. 

He doesn’t tell her about the nightmares - of finding his fingers intact, but bleeding and screeching in pain, and how he holds things anyway, trying to remember how they felt. He vaguely recalls how it feels to flex his fingers to grip items, and there’s a bit of a tingle when he removes his bandages and tries to brush his teeth with just his index and pinky on the toothbrush, where his fingers would have been. 

Jaime tries not to look at his hand too much. It’s scarred, dark and ugly, the palm slightly smaller than his left from the lack of use, and the skin wrinkled from the tight holds of the bandages.  _ It’s ugly _ , he hears in his head, even when he tries to tell himself  _ it’s part of me now _ . 

Dr Pycelle looks at his scan and says that he’s healing on schedule - and Jaime can’t help but wince when he hears the word  _ schedule _ , as though he’s a lab experiment. But the experienced doctor is unable to say for sure how his thumb will be six months from now, but seems optimistic enough about his shoulder, so Jaime supposes that’s good enough. 

There is no more need for bandages, just that he needs to wear a splint around his thumb that extends halfway down his forearm while the micro-fracture near his wrist heals. His new shoulder brace is more forgiving than the one they had him in for the first three weeks, and he picks a dark navy when the nurse says he could choose a colour.  _ Brienne smiles, just a little _ , when he says it matches the things he loves. 

Brienne sits in the room when he goes for his therapy session, as she always does, more for moral support than anything else. He insists that she doesn’t have to, because it’s mostly him twiddling his rigid thumb and trying to increase its very limited range of motion, and he really just sits at a table for most of that.  _ Not very interesting _ , he’s said over and over, but she’s as stubborn as he is. She sits there, watching him, sometimes taking notes, and makes him do the same exercises at home every night.  _ As the therapist ordered _ , she says. 

She hugs him when he finishes his session, face knitted in effort and weary from the repetitive motions, and tells him how proud she is of him. Jaime wishes that she didn’t have to be, but he is hopeful that all this therapy will work out, somehow. Better a limited thumb than none, he says with a playful smile, and it wipes the brightness from her eyes, even though she tries not to show it. 

His heart aches whenever she does that, trying to hide her own heaviness from him, but he knows it’d be worse if he were to expose her kindness, and swallows it.  _ You shouldn’t have to wear my chains.  _

\--

Brienne’s starts taking longer shifts in the gym, since Jaime’s been making better recovery. She still insists on making him breakfast that he can heat up in the microwave one-handed, and goes with him when he has therapy sessions. He makes her drive his car, because it needs to be driven and he doesn’t feel up to taking public transport just yet, and she obliges. 

She tells him about Podrick Payne, the new kid who Catelyn hired. He’s going into university, and needed a part-time job. He’s not much of a climber, she says, but he’s earnest and keen to learn. “You’ll make a decent climber out of him,” Jaime tells her with all seriousness, and Brienne only shrugs, because it’s hard not to improve when you’re in the gym every other day. 

She likes Podrick more than teenage boys his age. He’s not that much younger than she is, but he’s painfully eager and naive, which makes her wonder if he got teased much in school, and if so, how has his spirit not been dampened. He’s slightly chubby, and lives in comic-book tees and regular-fit jeans, which are loose enough for him to climb in. 

Catelyn had hired him because he seemed  _ the least likely to give them any trouble when asked to take weekend night shifts _ , and she was right. Podrick had volunteered for all the shifts which Robb and Loras tried to get out of, the former because Margaery had so many date ideas which he was struggling to accommodate. 

Brienne barely sees them these days, apart from when they’re at the gym, with most of her time split between work and taking care of Jaime. She’s called home twice to postpone her trip, much to her father’s disappointment initially. But Selwyn softened and looked pained when she told him of Jaime’s accident, and was solemn when he told her  _ to take all the time Jaime needed _ . 

Galladon was doing alright, her father said, even if he wasn’t responding to the treatment as quickly as the doctors hoped. He was in positive spirits, and was walking a bit more than he could a few months back. A short round in the garden was his new routine, and he sent her videos often enough that she didn’t feel as guilty for not being there to take them. She keeps the details of Jaime’s accident vague when speaking with Galladon, not wanting him to worry, but she guesses from her brother’s sympathetic expression when she mentions the Lannister heir that he knows anyway. 

Tyrion’s told her that she spends too much time over their place.  _ I appreciate you taking care of him _ , he’d told her, apologetic for being too busy for his brother at times, but Brienne figures that it’s hard enough on him having to juggle both his own and Jaime’s professional responsibilities. 

She needs to talk to him about the freelance work, but neither of them have the time nor capacity to have that conversation. They’re too busy just trying to get past each day, to stay afloat. 

She takes to the wall in the same way that she did when she first came to London - as a distraction and a focal point both, and she climbs harder than she has in a while. She finds herself subconsciously gravitating towards the dynamic routes, mantles and gastons and all the power moves that she doesn’t normally favour. They are routes that  _ Jaime _ enjoys and excels in, and she realises she still thinks about it in present tense when perhaps it doesn’t belong that way. 

Brienne earns a few more scrapes on her bare shins and forearms, from throwing herself onto slopers, awkward angles on the overhangs, and forcing moves which she would have tackled differently. 

Jon pulls her away from one of the routes he’s set, and tells her sternly that she’s going to injure herself if she continues doing that closed crimp on the overhanging route. She rubs her elbow tenderly, knowing he’s right, and tells him  _ just one more try _ . So he angers, and it’s one of the few times that Jon is visibly annoyed at her. He puts his hand on her elbow himself and grips tightly, and she lets out a small cry, and his eyes harden. “You’ve strained your elbow, so quit being so stubborn.” 

He finally leaves her be when she moves to the traverse, avoiding using her strained left arm for much besides counter-balancing. She doesn’t get on the traverse as much as she used to, because it’s usually crowded with people wanting to warm up or test their endurance levels, and she hates running into people on the route. 

At the end of her session - nearly five hours later, she’s sticky with steak and absolutely knackered, and most of the afternoon crowd have emptied out for dinner. Jon’s at the back, cleaning some of the holds they stripped from the walls the other day with a high-powered hose, and getting sprayed plenty himself. 

“Thank you.” 

“Can’t have you getting injured now, can we? How are you holding up? How’s Jaime doing?”

They’d avoided asking, with most of the updates coming from Arya, as nobody wanted to probe too hard when Brienne looked as weary as she did. They knew that she’d been staying in the guest room of his apartment, but the last they’d seen of Jaime was his sullen self in the hospital. 

“He’s better, a little more upbeat, but it’s not going to be a quick recovery. They’re not sure how he’s going to respond to therapy, but he’s been diligent with that at the very least.” 

“But how are you doing? You’re staying at his place, aren’t you? Margaery says you’ve only really been back to do your laundry and get fresh clothing. That doesn’t seem like the best situation.” Jon tosses the hose aside and places the holds against the wall to dry off, and Brienne joins him. 

“I haven’t really thought about it. But he needs me, and I want to be there for him, so this is what it is.” She shrugs, and heaves a breath as he looks at Jon, who’s considering his words. 

_ There isn’t very much more than that,  _ she realises. There isn’t much more of a reason than that, despite all the probing questions Tyrion has posed about why and how she and Jaime are coping.  _ There really aren’t that many more things to consider _ . Her priority is to help him get back on his feet, and to be confident enough to use his right hand instead of finding a sloppy alternative with his left, and to  _ trust it again _ . For however long it takes, she had promised him, and she didn’t really care if it meant staying in his guest room and doing his chores. 

Jon nods. “Just so long as you’re doing alright. Take it easy on the walls… you looked like you would have torn something if no one had said anything.” He flexes his ankle for a moment, and looks at her again, a little sheepishly. 

“I’ve told the rest, but I wanted to tell you in person. I’m moving. I’m going to Glasgow for a year. Ygritte’s accepted a contract and she’ll be there till next September at least, so I thought I should give it a shot. If it happens, it happens; if it doesn’t, I get to climb in Scotland.” 

“You’ve made up your mind. I’m happy for you, Jon.” 

“I have. Fingers crossed.” 

\--

She notices that the new boy, Podrick, has been taking over some of her cleaning chores without being asked, and she pulls him aside one day to thank him. Except the teenager looks absolutely terrified when she does so, and stutters as though he is about to be fired. 

“You don’t have to clean the toilets when it’s my name on the roster, Pod.” Brienne looks a little sheepish, knowing that he’s taken at least three of her shifts over the last week. 

“I just thought… since you’ve been busy, and I can’t run any of the introductory classes, it was only right.” 

Podrick’s the only one who isn’t allowed to teach beginners, since he hadn’t been climbing long enough and Catelyn didn’t deem him good enough to be guiding them in technique. He hasn’t complained and has taken it all in his stride, but Brienne knows it has to bother him. He always seemed especially keen taking the children around the gym and introducing them to the different walls and equipment in the training area, and she knew he’d be a patient mentor when he was allowed to run the classes. 

“Then let’s get you good enough to run the classes.” 

She makes good on her word. Podrick starts coming in two hours earlier and leaves at least an hour later every time he’s on shift, and spends his spare time either watching how the route-setters test the new sets or climbing on them. His technique improves quickly, although his coordination is still wanting, and Brienne sees him grow stronger as he ramps up the number of reps on the training boards. 

She’s especially impressed when she sees him going four rounds on the circuit board just two weeks later, and not on the easiest route. His hands are taped up - he hasn’t given his skin enough time to heal and they have chapped and torn, but yet he continues his efforts.  _ It won’t be long before Catelyn gives him the go-ahead _ , she thinks, and she continues to encourage the young lad, hoping that he doesn’t injure himself from the strain. 

Robb notices her giving him pointers, and starts to teach him some basics about route-setting as well. “It’s always good to learn more than you do,” he said, when Podrick said he was  _ nowhere near qualified to learn _ , and has the boy strip off the holds before they start on new sets. When the walls are bare, he asks Podrick to practise his smearing technique, and corrects him when he notices areas for improvement. 

\--

“When are you coming back to work, brother? I’ve been grossly overworked.” Tyrion pours out a glass of red wine for himself, as he settles into the couch. Jaime is bent over at the kitchen counter, trying to cut open a packet of crisps with the scissors in his right hand, but he is unable to exert much force with his thumb and the blades just flail at an awkward angle. 

Tyrion sighs, but holds himself back - he’d talked to Brienne about this, whether they should intervene when Jaime  _ needs help _ , but she felt strongly that he should be the one asking, and if he didn’t, then they should let him figure out what worked for him. 

“Ah, at last.” Jaime groans, and stuffs a handful of crisps in his mouth, the satisfying crunch a relief to both of them. He crashes onto the seat opposite Tyrion, and puts his feet up on the armrest dangerously close to where his brother holds the wine glass. 

The younger Lannister raises his eyebrows, and carefully shifts the glass to his other hand. 

“I was asking - when were you planning to come back to work?” He doesn’t say it, but it has been  _ almost two months  _ since the accident, and he knows that Jaime has been making progress with his therapy, and his right hand has regained enough function work a computer. He doesn’t need Jaime to be handling the client discussions, but having his brother back would take away a lot of the internal meetings that he was having to chair for the agriculture department. 

“I could work from home starting this week, but the office? Not so soon.” Jaime massages his stumps unconsciously, and Tyrion knows it’s one of his tells for the phantom pains that have continued to plague him.

“It’ll help things if you were sitting in on some of the meetings, you know, take some input from your team and give them a bit of direction.” 

“I can always call in and have them put me on video.” 

“It’s not the same, it’s impersonal.” 

“I’m not going back into the office for now, Tyrion, and that’s non-negotiable.” 

“You can’t stay away forever, brother. Things have been at a standstill, and it’s summer, we need new acquisitions and there are contracts that are up this month, I don’t have the time to go through them all, and Addam has tabled some suggestions that you should take a look at.” 

“I will, and I’ll email him my suggestions.” Jaime looks at Tyrion pointedly, although he did seem slightly distracted after the contracts were mentioned. He had been in negotiations with several of the farmers’ unions in Wales, and he knew that these unions were particular - they did not want to be part of a conglomerate, they had been convinced by Jaime’s vision for their partnership, and it was important to them that he handled these personally, or at least had significant input on it. 

And Brienne’s father was in one of the unions. He remembers the conversations they had in Cardiff, and how there were opportunities for them to partner with several farms which provided veal and lamb,  _ and how these opportunities were just laying to waste.  _

“I’ll talk to Addam about the contracts, don’t worry.” He huffs slightly and picks up his bag of crisps, struggling to put a clip on it so that they wouldn’t lose their bite. 

\--

She doesn’t expect to meet Cersei anywhere but at Jaime’s. 

Which is why Brienne gapes when the Lannister twin walks into the gym one afternoon when neither Jaime or Tyrion are in, with Myrcella and Tommen in tow.

While the two kids seem happy enough to pick up their rental shoes and get on the walls, with Loras giving her the thumbs up to say he’s got them, Cersei’s gaze remains firmly on Brienne.

“Brienne Tarth. My brother said you worked here, but I didn’t think you’d be here all the time. About time we had a talk, don’t you think?” Cersei’s words are borderline courteous, but her tone is cutting, and she cocks her head sideways as she gives Brienne a once-over. 

“Gladly, Mrs Baratheon. It’s nice to see you as well.” 

If Cersei’s annoyed by the use of Robert’s last name, she doesn’t show it - she still goes by Ms Lannister professionally, given the considerable weight her father’s last name holds as compared to her husband’s. But Brienne knows from her conversations with Renly that Robert has never been happy in their marriage, and much rather spend his days travelling to different countries and squandering the wealth that he had made with stocks  _ on a stroke of luck _ , as Tyrion put it. 

“My children speak of you quite highly. You aren’t much older than them, are you? Strange that you’ve taken a fancy to my brother.” 

“Jaime and I are happy.” Brienne decides there’s not much point in entertaining Cersei’s questions, but she’s too polite to simply walk away from the conversation, which isn’t much of one to begin with.

“Your father’s in one of the unions which Lannister Group has been in discussions with. He runs a farm in southern Wales, doesn’t he? Your family farm? Surely he stands to gain if his daughter were to date the man who’s deciding if the union’s contract will be renewed.” She smiles at Brienne, but her eyes remain still as she examines the younger woman carefully. 

“My father’s farm has nothing to do with us. It’s ridiculous for you to be drawing that link, perhaps there are more pressing matters that would demand your attention at such a grand company.” 

“Of course there are, but there is an ugly cow that needs to be put in her place before then.” Cersei hardens her glare, and Brienne meets it with a steely gaze. 

_ Words are wind _ , she tells herself,  _ you’re used to people like Cersei Lannister. Let her say what she wants, it’s not the truth, and she’ll be sick of it before long. It doesn’t matter.  _

“Stay away from my brother and my children. You’re just a ugly woman from Wales, what makes you think Jaime loves you? That innocent young act is only going to last this long.” 

_ You’ve been called ugly before, it doesn’t matter.  _

“Mum!” Brienne is jolted by the familiar voice, although the tone, a mixture of shock and anger, is unprecedented.

She spins around and sees Myrcella, and for the first time, she realises how much the girl looks like her mother.  _ Cersei would have been absolutely beautiful and charming as a young woman,  _ she thinks,  _ but now she is just a bitter woman.  _

The teenager walks towards Brienne and links her slender arm through Brienne’s muscled one, looking at her mother furiously. 

“Brienne’s taken care of Uncle Jaime, and she’s helped Tommen and I when you weren’t around. You can’t say those things to her.” 

“Myrcella, you’re being ridiculous. I’m your mother.” 

“Yes, and I’ve also seen you less these two weeks than I’ve seen Brienne.” 

“That wouldn’t be the case if Tyrion actually listened to what I said.” 

“No! We were happier when you were overseas, Mum, we actually had fun living with Uncle Jaime and Uncle Tyrion, and with Brienne. What’s the point of having us locked up at home? It’s the summer, and there’s so much we could be doing, if you actually _cared_.” 

“Get your things, we’re leaving.” Cersei snarls, and Myrcella flinches, her wide eyes looking over to Brienne for help, but her mother walks out of the door, where there’s a black sedan parked and waiting. 

“Thank you, Myrcella, but I think you and Tommen should go. We’ll talk later, I promise.” Brienne’s hand glances across the girl’s soft forearm, and takes the rental shoes from the two children as they quickly run out of the gym, looking apologetically at Brienne and Loras in turn. 

She sinks into the mats, and sighs as Loras sits next to her. 

“Cersei and Jaime had an odd relationship when they were younger.” Loras says abruptly, and avoids looking at Brienne directly as he does. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I was too young then, but Renly’s talked about it with Stannis, and I’ve heard my grandmother mention it before. I take it you’ve figured out that Cersei doesn’t like you very much.” 

“Go on.” 

“I was eight when I went skiing with them for the first time. And Cersei and Jaime, they were teenagers then, and Jaime was always the target of all the girls that were at the resort. He was the most handsome, and always the perfect gentleman. But Cersei always hated it, and she would say the nastiest things to the girls that he took an interest in, or those that talked to him. Stannis said that she once pushed a girl so hard that she fractured her ankle. We never saw the lady again, but that’s not a surprise. Cersei’s always been sort of possessive when it comes to Jaime, she’d always commandeered all his attention at gatherings. According to my grandmother, it was worse before she married Robert.

But I don’t know what Jaime’s stand is amidst all this. It all seems a little one-sided to me, because Jaime hasn’t shown the same kind of obsession with her. But I don’t know for sure, because I’ve never really seen it for myself. But that being said, I don’t really know him that well anyway. He’s never really spoken much to me, even when our families met in the past. Never talked much to others apart from Cersei and Tyrion at those things.

You know, I was a child then, but I was there when the whole mess about Jaime killing Aerys Targaryen happened. They kept Jaime out of most of the news reports, but everyone knew he was involved in it somehow. Wouldn’t put it past Tywin Lannister to have his son do his dirty business for him, everyone knows the old man was always eyeing the Targaryen market share.”

“It’s not like that, Loras.” Brienne winces, thinking about the secret that Jaime was keen to leave under wraps, knowing that misunderstandings were easy to come by, and wishes he was here to defend his own honour - it was not her story to tell. 

“Jaime and Aerys? Or Jaime and Cersei? Either way, it doesn’t matter now, does it? You’re with Jaime, and not that anything we say will change your mind. I don’t know how Jaime was, and I don’t know how he is now, but you need to know that the Lannister family is not simple. Tyrion and Jaime, they’re the nicest of the Lannisters, but there is an ugliness in that family that you’ve barely scratched the surface of.” 

“I know, that’s not going to be the last I’ve seen of Cersei, and she probably has nastier things to say than she did today.” 

“She's possessive, domineering and selfish, and hell knows what a woman like her would do to get what she wants. Be careful, Brienne.” 

\--

Jaime’s at the door when she arrives at his place that evening. He must have seen her drive into the garage, since the door was lifted even before she pressed the button to activate the system. 

“I know Cersei was at the gym earlier. Loras texted me, said I should do something about it.” 

Brienne’s surprised - because she thought that if Jaime were to know, it’d be because of his niece, not Loras. 

“It was alright, I handled it.” She hugs Jaime, taking in the fresh scent of his laundry and washed hair and the faint smell of roasting potatoes in the hall. 

“You cooked dinner?” 

“If throwing chicken legs and potatoes in the oven counts as cooking, then yes.” 

Jaime had begun experimenting in the kitchen again lately, and had most successes with meals cooked entirely in the oven, since everything could be prepared and just thrown into a tray. He still couldn’t hold the tray properly with two hands, but had adapted to using his left hand for most of the lifting and his right to balance. Opening the oven door was still tricky, but his right pinky was pulling its weight more these days. 

“I need to talk to you about Cersei,” he murmurs, and Brienne recognises his tone as  _ I have given this much thought _ , and she nods. 

They don’t talk about it over dinner. Instead, he asks her about Podrick, expressing a curious interest in the young lad. Jaime also tells her that he’s been watching videos about easy oven recipes, and they decide that oxtail stew will be their dinner that weekend.  _ We’ll have oxtail ragu pasta the next day _ , he declares. 

They don’t talk about it while Brienne does the dishes, instead he puts his arms around her and leans into her softly as she scrubs the dishes, feeling all of his warmth pressed up against her back. Jaime has taken to keeping a short beard, which Brienne has to help him trim because he can’t quite get it even when he tries, and it scratches against her neck as he nuzzles against her. 

But Jaime brings it up when Brienne’s in his room with him that evening. She still sleeps in the guest room, and he doesn’t want to insist that she joins him in his bed, but they wake up some mornings together, when he’s had a particularly bad nightmare and her presence is the only thing that saves him from them. 

“Cersei was my first kiss.” He looks embarrassed when he says it, and she instinctively pulls her hands away from his. 

“But it’s not what it sounds like. She wanted to practice… for her kiss with a senior… and I was the only one who could practice with her. I know what it must seem like, it’s fucked up and not  _ normal _ , but we were children, and she was my best friend as I was hers. It made sense, then.” 

“It wasn’t just once, was it?” Brienne murmurs, her gaze distant, and Jaime wishes he had been gentler in broaching the topic, as she remains out of his reach. 

“No. But I never thought much of it, I was helping her practice so that she wouldn’t make a fool of herself, and there was nothing else to it. But after that, things changed. Tyrion’s always told me that I’ve been blind to the things that Cersei does to the people around me, and to a certain extent he’s right, but I suppose - I don’t see it the way he does. She’s never been kind to the women in my life. I know she always finds her ways, I don’t know how, but no woman I’ve dated has ever stayed long. It’s no coincidence, and it certainly can’t be my lack of good looks.

She’s going to say awful things, insult your honour and family, but I won’t let her. I don’t think I can stop her, but Brienne, I promise - you are my priority. I’m not sure if things with Cersei will ever be normal,  _ my family is not normal _ , but you are, you are the best part of my life, and I won’t let that go.”

“What Cersei says, what she thinks, that doesn't matter. I've been called ugly by most of the people I've met in my life. That's not new, that's a fact. I'm okay with that. But if she dares question my intentions in this relationship, and cast doubt on my father's honour, I can't stand by that."

"You have the most beautiful eyes, remember that. Let me be the one to defend your honour." 

_Jaime holds her, tells her that others can call her ugly, but she is not to believe it - he loves her, all of her, the freckles and the thin hair and wide mouth and crooked teeth, all of it. To him, she is just Brienne, and he is in love with her._   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've updated the number of chapters - I've planned out the rest of this fic, and it should be complete by the end of the month for sure, probably sooner. Thanks so much for reading as always, and hope it was enjoyable.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not the man I was when I first stepped in here.”
> 
> “I didn’t like the man you were when you first came in, Jaime. But I like this version of you, and I know you’re better than this.”

“Is that all, Addam?” Jaime scratches the back of his left, peering at the long legal document outlining their partnership with a dairy co-op that his trusted deputy had sent over. 

“Pretty much. We’ve arranged the signing and a short meeting for Friday. I told them you might be free, but it should be fine even if you’re not there.” Addam Marbrand is cautious, given that Jaime has only been to the office once since his accident, and even then, it was in the evenings and solely because he needed to sign some documents in person.  _ Not because Brienne had insisted that there was no reason for him to simply mope at home and wait for the papers to be couriered to him _ . 

“I’ll be there.” He says it slightly grudgingly, and his friend’s surprise is clear. 

“I’ll drop by on Friday around noon, for a couple of hours. About time I checked on things, anyway.” 

“I’ll fix it for 12.30 then. See you, Jaime.” “You too, thanks.” 

He leans back in his chair, and looks around his study. It looks different now, he’d packed up several boxes of things he didn’t really need and put them in the storage room, and he’s got a new keyboard and mouse - the former has larger keys and are set lower, so it requires less effort to press, while the latter is angled for use with his left hand. It still doesn’t feel intuitive, using his left hand to click and scroll, but he’s adjusting, he thinks. 

Jaime hears the door crack open, and it can only be Brienne. Tyrion’s never this polite bursting into his study, Tommen or Myrcella would knock before entering, and even then, they hardly did so when he was in there. 

“I heard you talking to Addam.” She doesn’t hide the fact she had been eavesdropping, and Jaime can’t help but break into a smile, however anxious he feels about returning as a  _ different man _ . “So Friday, huh.”

“Friday.” He repeats it, and the word sounds foreign. He hadn’t intended on it, but it felt  _ right _ during their conversation, and he knows Tyrion would appreciate his return. 

“You know, if it feels too much, you can always take next week off anyway. I’m sure the department head would be fine with that.” She kisses him briefly, her lips tasting faintly of garlic and bacon fat, and he can’t help but pull her closer. “You taste fantastic - is that lunch?” 

“Bastardised aglio olio.” “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” “Come down in five?” “Of course.”

_ Perhaps it’s a week for brave returns,  _ the thought flashes across his mind, and he looks at broad shoulders from the back as Brienne steps out. He has only seen her bare back a couple of times, but always with the straps of her usual sports bra on, and they are sculpted beautifully, the clench of the muscle around the joint, not unlike his own not that long ago. But they have atrophied with diminished use, even with the therapy he’s been doing and some light weights that he has made part of his daily routine.

He misses the aches of exercise, real exercise, pushing his limits and feeling the strain, rather than just to move his parts so they don’t fall away from him. He misses the soreness in his fingers and forearms after a climbing session, and the tightness in his back when he’s pushed a little too hard, the cramp in his sides. 

“I’d like to boulder tomorrow.” He doesn’t mean for it to sound so soft, but it comes out more of a release than a statement, and she spins around quickly as he speaks.

Her bright eyes, both questioning and welcoming, and  _ he eases _ in her gaze, as he always does. 

“I’m working the morning. 6am?” “Yup.” 

He thinks her footsteps sound lighter against the hardwood floors as she slips downstairs. 

They haven’t talked about her moving back to her apartment, or staying more permanently at his. There is ample room, and Margaery doesn’t need her to make rent, but it seems almost presumptuous of him to assume that she wants to move in with him when he’s gotten more accustomed to his new  _ situation _ . They skip over the topic easily enough when Tyrion hints at it over dinners, and it’s hard for her to leave when she’s still cooking most of his meals for him, whether they’re kept in boxes in the fridge or had together. 

Jaime wants to tell her that the key she has was  _ made  _ for her, not a spare that was lying around, even though he had two spares done up when Myrcella and Tommen stayed over. He feels bad that her feet don’t quite fit in the single bed that she’s been sleeping on in the guest room, and wonders if it’ll be too much to buy a large double for the room that’s currently sitting empty.  _ But it doesn’t quite feel like the right time.  _

\--

It feels weird to pull on his tight climbing shoes with only one proper functioning hand. He often puts both his index fingers into the loops at the back of the shoes and tugs them over his bulbous heels, but he’s unable to exert much pressure with his right index still, and it feels a little tender as he gets his shoes on after much effort. 

He feels Brienne’s gaze on him, keeping just  _ enough  _ distance that he doesn’t feel like she’s hovering. Jaime knows she’s been trying to make sure that he doesn’t feel slighted by her help, and he appreciates it, but it still feels awkward.  _ It’s not pity _ , he knows, but he doesn’t feel like her equal in this light. 

Jaime’s appreciative that it’s early yet - and they’re the only ones in the gym, just as it was in the beginning. Except it was the tail end of winter then, and they would be accompanied by the artificial lights in the gym. But it’s the height of summer now, and the windows are cracked open to get some draft in, and it’s bright out even at six in the morning. 

He climbs on one of the beginner routes, it’s really just a ladder with jugs, and he breathes a sigh of relief when it’s easy enough to clamber up. His feet are less sure than they used to be, but the holds are large enough that his careless placement doesn’t make a difference, and he leans heavily on his left arm and uses his right palm to keep his balance more than anything else. 

But Brienne frowns as she sees him go on two other climbs - they’re juggy, straightforward routes as well - and stops him before he starts on a fourth. 

“Your feet are sloppy.” “Cut me some slack, B.” 

“They were never this bad even when you first started.” 

“I’m not the man I was when I first stepped in here.” He cuts her off roughly, his tone sharper than she had expected. He hadn’t meant to brandish that line as a means of defence, he’d refrained from saying it most times he felt like it was the only retort he had, but it was on the tip of his tongue, whether he wanted it or not. 

“I didn’t like the man you were when you first came in, Jaime. But I like this version of you, and I know you’re better than this.” She points to another route, with smaller footholds and a grade harder than the three he’s done, with a couple of side pulls and less friendly jugs to negotiate. 

“You can do it,” she murmurs, as he steps in front of her and towards the wall. 

His first attempt at it is a poor one. He doesn’t weight his feet properly and he’s relying too much on his left arm, even though the hold is an awkward side pull. Jaime slips off the footholds clumsily, and manages to catch himself before he falls onto the mat, but he notices that Brienne had already stepped behind him and was ready to bail him out.  _ Out of instinct,  _ he reminds himself,  _ it is not pity _ . 

So he tries again, carefully placing his toes against the footholds this time, and  _ daring  _ to trust what’s left of his right hand. It’s a shallower jug, but he realises that there’s enough for his index and pinky to hold onto, and his stumps, wrapped in a layer of stiff tape, help to grip the rough hold. It surprisingly doesn’t hurt to put weight on his right hand, even though he quickly notices that his right forearm isn’t able to hold much, and he adjusts as he moves up the wall, and Brienne claps encouragingly when he finishes with both hands firmly on the last hold. 

He beams - it’s an easy route that he would have treated as nothing more than a warm-up just a couple of months ago - but right now it feels like a real accomplishment, and  _ perhaps, that isn’t such a bad thing _ . 

The next few sessions in the gym feels like he’s relearning how his body moves. The clenches in his core, the familiar release in his shoulders when he leans into them. He doesn’t attempt anything too taxing, even though he’s gotten the all-clear from Dr Pycelle for his shoulder and forearm, preferring to stay on the slabs for now. 

Arya comes in several mornings, and is delighted to see him. She pushes him harder than he’d like, challenging him to one overhanging route per visit, and coaches him through the array of heel hooks and toe hooks that weren’t previously necessary when his right arm was strong enough to pull him up. 

It’s a different dance he does these days on the wall, Jaime realises, a dance that he had deemed less of a priority to learn in the past. Not that he hadn’t paid attention to technique, but these little tricks that others used to counter the lack of strength or length are unfamiliar to him. He can’t help his crow of delight when he does a double heel hook and clenches his hamstrings to maintain his grip on a sloping hold with his right, and pushing off his heels to reach into a jug with his left. There would have been easier ways to do it,  _ in another time _ , but  _ this is how he does things now _ , and it feels tremendous when Arya gives him a thumbs up. 

Brienne starts using tape to bind the fingers on her right for some of her sessions, testing how some of the routes feel before she works on them with Jaime. He still continues to favour the slabs, but she coaxes him to try a mantle several weeks into his training. He approaches it cautiously, and reaches for the large hold with his left first. With his recent instincts, he throws a left heel over it as well before he weights his right hand on it, and the transition is smoother than he thought it’d be. 

This time, he’s the one who musters a thumbs up, and with his right hand to boot.

\--

Brienne’s cleaning her room - has it always gathered this much dust in the summer? - when she hears Loras’ unmistakable laughter. He’s still been living in the apartment some days, especially since they’re still having the kitchen fitted and there were some delays in taking over the lease. 

She opens her door, and Renly meets her with surprise. “You’re here! Man, it’s been a while since we were hanging out in here.” 

Brienne can’t help her sheepish smile, as Margaery joins them in the corridor. 

“It won’t be long before you really move out though.” 

“They’ll be done with the kitchen tops by Friday, so we were thinking of holding a housewarming on Sunday. Brienne, you’ll be free Sunday night? I made sure that we’re all off the roster, Podrick and Torrhen will hold the fort.” 

“Torrhen’s back? I thought he was only coming back at Christmas!” Torrhen had been working at the gym for longer than Brienne did, and she had only a couple of shifts before he had left to take a job in Madrid, but he and Renly had often climbed together in the past. 

“I’ll be there for sure. Any gift requests?” The pair exchange a look, and Renly grins -  _ she shouldn’t have offered _ , she realises, recognising his mirth. 

“Would you like to sponsor a lamp for our bedroom?” “Damn it.” She scrunches up her nose, because Renly has always liked funky art deco lamps, and they wouldn’t be cheap. “But I get to choose it.” She lifts her eyebrows knowingly at her dark-haired friend, and he groans, because Brienne’s not known for having the best taste in decor, and he  _ knows  _ she’ll pick something that will wind him up. “Fine.” 

Margaery joins her in her room as Brienne changes her sheets - she doesn’t know why she bothers, since she hasn’t slept there for a while, and doesn’t plan to move back for a couple of weeks at least. Her room looks emptier, with two of her backpacks which had been sitting in the corner now occupying space in Jaime’s spare room instead, and her cupboards are only half-full. 

Tyrion’s asked her why she doesn’t just do her laundry at their place - and Brienne’s too embarrassed to say that it’s because she doesn’t want to have to hang her undergarments where they are plain for all to see. 

“Brienne?” “Yeah? You look like you want to tell me something.” 

“I wanted to ask something.” “Mhm?” Brienne senses Margaery’s hesitance, and sets aside her clothing on a chair, turning to face her friend. 

“How would you feel about Robb moving into Loras’ room?” 

Brienne pauses to consider it - she had a feeling that this would be a possibility, and she doesn’t know what to think about it. While she rather enjoyed Robb’s company, and knows he’d be a tidy housemate, she wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of living with a couple. Perhaps it’d be different if there was someone else, like when Renly crashed with Loras and Margaery was mostly around, but staying just with Robb and Margaery didn’t seem like such a hot idea. Especially since she’d hardly spent time with them as a couple.

“Robb and Jon were planning to move out after they graduated, he doesn’t really fancy living with his parents and siblings as a grown adult, and since Loras’ room will be empty, it made sense. We don’t really know when Jon will be back, and it’d be silly to commit to a lease. What do you think? I know it’s weird and new, but Sansa will be over often, so it won’t be a third-wheel thing, if that’s what you’re worried about?” 

She realises that she’s not worried about being a third wheel - she’d been one often enough when it was just Loras and Renly around, and she knew Robb and Margaery wouldn’t make her feel like an odd one out. But the thought of moving made her wonder how sustainable her own living situation was - she was basically living in Jaime’s house and had been for weeks, but they had yet to talk about it, and  _ perhaps, she was ready for the talk.  _

“I’m happy for you if you guys want to live together. Plus, it’ll be nice to have someone help with the chores after Loras leaves, since you hardly do the kitchen anyway.” Brienne laughs, and hugs her petite friend. “I’m really, really happy for you guys. It’s a huge step.” 

“I know, I’m kind of nervous about it really, but I mean, we’ve been friends for so long, even if living together doesn’t work out for us as a couple, I think we can still co-exist pleasantly. How’s living with Jaime?” Margaery crashes on the bed and leans back, looking at her expectantly. 

“It’s… normal. Tyrion isn’t around a lot, and they have a cleaner who comes round twice a week, so I’m really just cooking for him and making sure he’s adjusting fine. Jaime’s been improving a lot, especially since he went back to the gym, so he probably doesn’t need me around for much longer.” 

“That’s a lie.” “What?”

“He definitely wants you to stick around. You guys haven’t talked about it, have you? But you living with him and his brother for this long… wait… you haven’t done it yet?” The last part comes out in surprise, and Brienne can feel the heat rushing to her face. 

“No, and we’re not having this conversation right now.” 

“Wow, Jaime is a lot more patient than I gave him credit for. Figured you guys did it in the campervan back then.” 

“Ew, Marg, we barely knew each other then!” “Didn’t stop you from sleeping next to him in a very enclosed space.” 

“Loras snores like a fire engine.” “Fair enough. Maybe his age has to do with his patience. He does seem like he’d be… pretty good, though.” 

“This discussion is over. Okay, I’m going off, will see you at the gym, or Renly’s on Sunday?” 

“Gotcha. Stay  _ safe _ , Bri.” “You’re awful.” 

\--

Brienne’s not surprised when she sees Sansa and the tall Clegane guy in the gym more often in recent weeks. 

He’s become a bit of a Friday regular, joining them on their climb sessions and occasionally for post-climbing drinks. But Sandor doesn’t speak much, although he’s been polite enough in group conversation.

With his burly frame and large facial scar, he cuts an imposing figure, especially next to Sansa, whose lithe frame looks more delicate in contrast. He doesn’t seem to talk much even with her, but there’s a softness in the way he is around her, and Brienne quickly realises that she’s not the only one who’s noticed it.

Catelyn pulls her aside during one of her Friday shifts, and sits her down in her office. 

“What do you know of Sandor Clegane?” There’s some grey in her startling auburn hair, but there’s an unmistakable resemblance between the Stark matriarch and her elder daughter. 

“He’s a mature student who’s graduating next year. Used to work security for Tywin Lannister, doesn’t talk much, but seems a decent chap.” Brienne shrugs, but Catelyn’s furrowed brow tells her that she’s dissatisfied with that information. 

“Is he interested in Sansa?” 

“I don’t know, but I know she considers him a friend, and I don’t think there’s anything much wrong with that.” 

“Help me keep a look out for her, will you? I know my daughter, she’s naive, and I don’t want her to get hurt.” 

Brienne promises, even though she has a feeling that Catelyn has nothing to worry about. Sansa doesn’t seem romantically interested in Clegane, it seemed more like she was curious about him as a person, and he regarded her like a protective older brother. He’s taken to climbing, as most athletic people would; even though his large build, not all too dissimilar from Brienne’s own, isn’t much of an advantage in this sport as he was probably accustomed to. 

She learns from a brief chat with Sandor that he used to play rugby - in school and later in an amateur league, but could never find the time nor energy to commit fully to the sport. 

Brienne wanted to know if he still plays the game - but he had turned and gotten on a route before she’d realised.

\--

Tyrion’s got three meetings scheduled for the day, so naturally it’s Brienne who picks Myrcella and Tommen up from the tube station. It’s a fairly long walk from the station to Jaime’s house, and he knew Cersei would be furious if he’d let them go past some of the areas she deemed ‘shady’. 

She’s been driving Jaime’s coupe only when he’s out with her, or when she needs to run errands, even though he complains and tells her to take it instead of riding the tube, especially since the trains get unbearably hot in the summer. 

The Baratheon children are delighted when they see her turn the corner, and hop into the car excitedly. “Hi, Brienne! Could we have pizza for dinner?” Myrcella pleads - with her most charming smile - right after the car moves off, with her bulky backpack still stuck in an awkward position as she tries to get it off. 

“Hmm… I’ve not prepared anything yet, so I guess we could drop by Franco Manca on the way back. Anything you’d like, Tommen?” 

“The pizza there’s nicer when you eat it fresh. It’s not the same if you take it away.” Tommen remarks quietly, looking at her through the rearview mirror. His expression is thoughtful, and he continues: “Would Uncle Jaime be okay with going there for dinner?” 

Myrcella turns around to look at her brother, and her tone masks her chiding as she replies, “It’s going to be a bit hard for him, Tommen.” 

“But pizza’s eaten one-handed.” The boy retorts carelessly, and Brienne cuts in. “You’re not repeating that again, Tommen. We’ll let your Uncle Jaime decide, yeah?” 

She takes his soft grunt as a ‘yes’. 

Surprisingly, Jaime agrees to go to the pizza place for dinner, saying that  _ it’s not the same if you take it away _ , insisting that the crust would have less bite and the texture of the cheese would be off, even if it was reheated in the oven.  _ It’s not a brick oven, B, _ he’d replied, when she suggested the reheating. 

They get four different pizzas to share - Jaime picks one with ham, ricotta, mushrooms on cream sauce, Tommen chooses the lamb sausage, Brienne going for the chorizo, and Myrcella sticking to the traditional with a margherita. 

Jaime frowns when the pizzas arrive, each on a large white plate, uncut. Brienne makes quick work of her own, slicing it four ways, and reaches over to do the same for Jaime’s. She switches a slice of his for hers, and puts her left hand over the stumps on his right, murmuring softly so that only he can hear: “I’ve got you, J.” 

He picks up his pizza slices with his left hand, now somewhat instinctively, folding the two sides of the crust together so it’s easier to eat. He glances over at Brienne before he goes for his second, and he knows from her encouraging gaze that she wants him to try the same with his right, so he takes a deep breath and gives it a shot, trying to ignore the eager stares from his niece and nephew across the table.  

It’s harder,  _ of course _ , but he uses his pinky to prop up one side of the slice and his thumb just about cooperates for long enough for him to take a bite before it falls clumsily back onto his plate with a noticeable thwack. There’s tense silence for a moment, but Jaime breaks it with easy laughter. “Well, that was ugly.” 

It doesn’t stop him from trying again the rest of the meal, and the same repeats itself more often than not, and instead of laughing, Jaime starts to look a bit frustrated. But his gritted expression eases when Brienne rubs her thumb on the back of his right hand, despite it being coated with pizza grease now, encouraging him.  _ It’s not perfect, but it’s progress. _

Myrcella tells him later that night, when Tommen has gone to bed, that she hopes to move in with him and Tyrion before the next academic year begins. His house is near enough to her and Tommen’s school, she argues, and it’s actually more convenient for them to attend their music classes. “Plus, we’d actually have people to have dinner with.” 

Jaime doesn’t disagree with her case, he wants it as well - there’s more than enough space in their house, and Tyrion would definitely be on board as well. But there’s just a Cersei-shaped problem, since Robert wouldn’t care either way. Not that he would know. 

“I’ll talk to your mum about it, Myrcy.” “I tried asking her, and she didn’t say no. I overheard her telling Grandfather that she wants to move to New York, to keep an eye on Joffrey. My wonderful older brother apparently had some kid beaten up and Mum’s trying to make sure it doesn’t go on his record.”

Jaime groans and Brienne just gapes for a moment as Myrcella tells them about the other shenanigans that Joffrey’s apparently been able to get himself into in just six months. But the teenager seems unfazed by the horrors that her brother has committed, shrugging it off as ‘typical Joffrey’. 

It’s not until Myrcella trudges off to bed shortly after midnight that Brienne realises it’s the first time they’ve all stayed over on the same evening. With the two kids taking the spare room and beds, she was left with the couch and daybed in Jaime’s study. 

“You can take my bed tonight.” Jaime mumbles, and gathers a pillow and his bolster, motioning to leave for his study. “The other pillow’s clean, I changed it yesterday.” 

“Jaime, don’t be silly. It’s your bed, we’re shared a bed before, smaller than this one.” She looks at him, her gaze soft and  _ wanting _ . 

“I don’t want you to feel… uncomfortable. I know we haven’t talked about it, but… I know you want to take things slow, and I respect that. I’m not in the best condition myself, and I promised your brother I wouldn’t…” 

“J, you’re rambling. I’m not a child, I know what I want.” 

Jaime nods, and turns to his dresser, taking something from the top drawer before turning back around to face Brienne, who’s sitting on his bed, her long legs stretched on top of the duvet,  _ looking endless in those shorts _ . 

“I want you to have this.” He says softly, pressing a key into her palm. 

“It’s the key to the garage, it was made at the same time as the key for the front door I gave you. It wasn’t a spare. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want you to feel pressured or anything, and I felt bad that you had to come and take care of me like I’m some invalid. I want to do things right - not like how everything turned out, but I guess I can’t turn back things?

“I want you to move in with me, B - properly, not because your old boyfriend’s not able to butter his own bread or open a jar of jam. I want us to live together. If you’ll have me.” 

“You’re not an invalid, Jaime.” Brienne rubs the key between her fingers, a small smile spreading across her broad lips,  _ somehow looking delicate despite her features being anything but _ , and she takes out the other key, adding it to the key ring. Jaime’s still looking at her questioningly, but her nod tells him all he needs to know. 

He drops the pillow and bolster back onto his bed, and he leans in to kiss her. She tastes like toothpaste - like his toothpaste; and he smells like her moisturiser, since he’s taken it for himself ever since she complained that his skin was getting dry and he needed to take care of it. His right hand instinctively reaches for the edge of her left jaw, his thumb resting on a particularly prominent freckle that he’s named E. 

She moans softly, as she always does when he does so, except Jaime hasn’t held her face with his right for a while, and he winces when his stumps graze air instead of her blotchy skin. He pulls back, but she doesn’t let him, her arms wrapping around his thinner torso - she can count his ribs these days, nuzzling into his neck and breathing against his thin t-shirt. 

“Don’t let go, J,” she whispers, and lifts her chin to kiss him,  _ tenderly _ . His lips part and his tongue probes, searchingly, meeting hers. They steal gasps of air from each other, filling the gaps between teeth and the walls in their mouths, and Jaime’s left hand, his  _ good hand now _ , runs up her thigh. She lets out a long sigh when his thumb rests on her pelvis, and her eyes open to his - her bright blue eyes shining in a different light. 

He has wanted her - all of her - not just her large lips and high forehead, but her long milky-skinned neck, her freckled body, all of it. But his lack of  _ completeness _ has held him back,  _ too old to be worthy of someone so young and free and with so much more to explore _ , and he has held back, giving her space to decide if this is what she  _ really  _ wants. 

But Jaime loses all sense of control when Brienne takes his right hand in her palms, and gently kisses his stumps, looking at them as lovingly as she regards all other parts of him, and he knows that all that’s held him back is his own disgust for what he has lost.  _ She has never seen me as less than whole _ , he tells himself, and he lets his left hand run higher towards her chest. She’s not wearing a bra under her top, he knows, because it’s not her habit to once she’s brushed her teeth, her nipples sometimes peeking behind her thin tops, only for his eyes.  _ Mine.  _

He pauses as his hand hovers under her right breast, and looks to her for permission - just as he had before they agreed to be  _ each other’s. _ She replies with another kiss to the poor stand-in for his ring finger, licking it ever-so-lightly. Her nipples are firm, he finds out, atop her small breasts, as he grazes past them in turn before taking them in his mouth, sucking, licking,  _ teasing _ . 

He suckles harder on them when she lets out soft moans, and whispers  _ they won’t hear _ when she glances at his door with slight concern on her face. Brienne runs her large hands through his overgrown mane, so  _ golden  _ in the warm lights of his bedroom, and kisses the top of his head as he fondles her breasts gently, before they fall together onto his bed, him atop her. 

“I won’t go further if you don’t want me to, B.” Jaime’s eyes are darker than usual, his pupils dilated from arousal, his left thumb resting lightly on the waistband of her shorts. 

“I want you, Jaime. All of you.” Her voice is certain, and she guides his right hand to her hip as well, before reaching to caress the front of his own shorts. He lets out an involuntary breath, and she smiles, reaching beyond his band where there are no boxers to be found. 

He can’t help but laugh - remembering a brief discussion they had about wearing boxers, and how she’d been slightly horrified when he told her that he’d been going commando for most of the time since his accident, because it was too much trouble to pull them down when he went to the toilet. 

She nibbles her lip, smothering a laugh of her own, and Jaime knows she’s  _ thinking of it too _ . 

She pulls down his shorts, and he lets out a sigh of relief when she does, his very erect cock springing to stare at her belly button. It’s wonderfully warm when she takes him in her hand, although she holds it so gently and with enough hesitation that Jaime opens his eyes to meet her uncertain gaze. 

“I’ve never done this before.” She states, painfully honest, baring her embarrassment with a blush creeping into her face. 

“I’ve never been touched so gently before.” 

He pulls her hand away, and shakes his head to tell her to  _ wait _ , and puts a pillow behind her head. He lowers himself to his knees, and pulls her shorts off gingerly, taking her black panties as he does. He tries not to breathe too deeply when he does, but fails,  _ wishing he didn’t seem so green _ .  _ How silly _ , he chides himself _ , a man of thirty-five and with nothing but the raging hormones of an inexperienced child to show for it _ . 

Brienne arches up when he puts his stumps against her sensitive folds,  _ teasing  _ again, and Jaime realises that the lack of fingers aren’t an awful thing, rubbing his stumps against her clit as he puts his index into her warmth. She’s delightfully wet, as he tells her in a soft whisper, moving his hand more quickly as he does so, and her head lolls around on the pillow,  _ his pillow which is going to smell of her _ . 

He uses his left hand to bring her to climax, placing two, then three digits within her and rubbing circles over her clit, licking her nipples in turn as he stimulates her all over, and he knows it’s the brightest smile he’s been able to muster in a long time as he feels her strong frame - the body Brienne always seems so in control of when she’s in her element - writhing under his direction. She groans softly at first, but breaks into the most beautiful rendition of  _ Jaime, Jaime, Jaime _ , saying his name the exact way he loves it, just that it rolls off her tongue more hurriedly as he lifts her to her high. 

_ You’re wonderful, you feel so smooth,  _ he says as she clenches around his fingers, and Brienne slowly opens her bleary eyes to look at him, beaming at her. 

She pulls him to lie beside her, and tries to reach for his painfully stiff penis, but still Jaime shakes his head. “Not tonight,” he says, as he takes himself in his left hand, pumping vigorously for a short while before he spills on himself,  _ all over too soon _ . He laughs at himself then, and lets her dip her finger into his semen and  _ taste it _ . 

“It’s not normally this quick, but I’m very out of practice.” He half-shrugs, his shoulder rubbing against hers, their broad frames seemingly equal as they lie alongside each other. 

“I’m ready for… it, you know.” She murmurs, leaning her head against his arm and taking a tissue to help him clean his spill. 

“I know. But we have all the time in the world, and I wanted this to be something special for you.” She almost wants to snort at how corny his words are, but his green eyes are earnest, looking like they belong to a much younger man than his thirty-five. 

“I’m very serious about everything I said earlier, Brienne. I want you to move in with me, I’ve not been sure about a lot of things in these last couple of months, but you have been the very best part of it, and I hope you want me too.” 

“All of you, Jaime, I want all of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a fun one to write - lots of self-indulgent climbing bits, a shoutout to my favourite pizza chain, and well, my attempt at smut. Ratings will be adjusted accordingly, and thanks everyone for sticking with me through all this. I've got it mapped to the end now, and I'm excited for what's to come in the next few chapters before this comes to a close. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, these kudos and comments have been the best encouragement. :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei is moving to New York and wants to take the children with her. So Tyrion and Jaime come up with a way to let them stay, and the house becomes one for five instead of two.

Jaime tries not to think about the last time they were supposed to have a family dinner. He was hesitant to go for this one, but it was partly to celebrate Tommen’s birthday, and the boy had insisted Brienne come along as well. To both Jaime and Tyrion’s surprise, Tywin Lannister had agreed and called it a good idea, and they both knew their father had little patience to play games when it came to things like this. 

He reluctantly puts on a navy suit, but draws the line at a tie, knowing that his father would only have unpleasant words if he turned up in just a shirt.  _ Silly, being in my thirties and still haunted by what my father wants of me,  _ Jaime thinks, but he makes sure that the clothing he picks out are crisp and pressed anyway. 

Brienne looks nervous standing in their living room, as Jaime descends down the stairs, still fiddling awkwardly with his belt. He gapes slightly when he sees her, wearing a long royal blue dress which he’s never seen on her before, with her black heels peeping out under the skirt. She’s put on light makeup and some pale lipstick, and it looks like her hair was properly blown out. He’s surprised, because he’d told her it would be rather formal, and he knew she might be uncomfortable, but she looked  _ beautiful _ . 

Sure, her broad shoulders and muscled arms looked slightly out of place against the slight sheen of her dress, but it fit her well. Her expression was uncertain, but there was a way in which she carried herself which was still, undeniably, the Brienne he was endlessly charmed by. 

Tyrion chuckles slightly when he sees her, and Jaime sees her face fall then, but she regains her composure when he assures her that she looks like a  _ proper lady _ and it’ll be interesting to see how their father would react when she towered over him. 

She takes the wheel, because Tyrion knows he’d need at least half a bottle of wine to get through the evening, and neither of them trust Jaime to drive yet. His coupe feels easy under her hands now, and Jaime likes the way she looks when she’s in the driver’s seat, an easy confidence as she manoeuvres through the busy evening traffic. 

Tywin’s already there when they arrive at the private room that he’d arranged for, dressed in a black suit and a dark grey tie. “Jaime, Tyrion,” he says, before turning to look at Brienne. “Miss Tarth. I believe we met once.” 

Brienne tries to ignore the fact that she had been burning with anger the last time she saw Tywin Lannister - cold, uncaring and completely lacking in any concern for his son who had undergone surgery after being in a road accident; and nods slightly when he acknowledges her. “It’s good to meet you again, Mr Lannister,” she says, her voice only wavering slightly as she moves to shake his hand.

Tyrion was right. She does tower over him easily in her heels, although he was probably about Jaime’s height. But the man does not flinch even as they exchange a brief, but firm handshake, and she tries not to let him see how intimidated she is by his presence. 

Cersei and the children arrive then, and Brienne can’t help but break into a smile when she sees their bright faces. But their mother merely shoots her a cold gaze, and barely acknowledges Tyrion and Jaime as she takes a seat next to Tywin. 

Brienne keeps her head down for most of the meal, only exchanging polite conversation when prompted, and is relieved when Tywin Lannister seems satisfied enough to hear that she was graduating from King’s. She injects briefly when he talks about the weather in Wales and how the rail system in the countryside is wanting, commenting about the inefficiencies of rail maintenance and the lack of proper weather safeguards, and he doesn’t cut her off. 

_ That’s a good sign _ , Jaime thinks, but he’s too busy struggling to cut his food with the heavy knife - his right hand aches from overgripping, but there’s no better way for him to get through his steak. 

Cersei tells them, rather suddenly, that she’s moving to New York. 

“We’ve interviewed a few people to take the position of operations head for the US side of things, but there hasn’t been anyone suitable. Mr Young is departing in four weeks. I’ll be moving over next weekend, and the children will go over at the end of the month.”

She doesn’t say it, but they all know that she’s also moving because of Joffrey - she’d never been able to hide the fact that he was her favourite child, and he seemed to be unable to keep himself out of trouble despite Tywin’s many interventions on his daughter’s behalf. 

“I don’t want to move to New York!” Tommen retorts, with a childish petulance that Brienne’s never quite seen before, and she recognises from Myrcella’s expression that she’s reluctant to make the move as well. She feels bad for the both of them, it hasn’t been easy for either child, having moved schools thrice in the last five years, and from Jaime’s stories of his childhood, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. 

"We've talked about this," Cersei says, even though they all know that Cersei probably just told them, without caring so much for what they thought about the move. "And it's final. We've made the arrangements for school come October."

Tommen, a good-natured boy, wasn’t the type to hold his ground well against bullies; and Myrcella would definitely be upset to leave her friends and life behind in London. 

"Surely it'll be disruptive for Myrcella's studies? She's applying to university next year and she'll need testimonials from her teachers, all her extracurriculars would go to waste if she moves to New York at this point," Tyrion reasons, looking more at his father than his sister. 

"I'll have a word with the school when she transfers. It won't be a problem at all," Cersei says curtly, slicing through her food easily and quickly, all-businesslike as she dismisses her brothers' concerns. 

The two brothers exchange a look of dismay, and try to prod Tywin, hoping that the man would be able to intervene for the children. 

But Tywin agrees with Cersei’s plan, and simply dismisses Tommen’s concerns when the child tries to protest again, giving him a dark look at which the boy went silent immediately. 

\--

That night, in Jaime’s bed - or is it  _ their bed _ now, he tells Brienne that he’s  _ thankful _ that she went to dinner, and that she bothered to dress up formally even though it was all rather silly. He hated how family affairs were always stiff and uncomfortable, and wished it could be  _ easier _ , but Tywin Lannister was never one for  _ easy _ . 

She simply nuzzles her head into his neck and breathes in his scent - faintly of cedar and vetiver notes, as he pulls her closer into his embrace. His feet are at her ankles when they lie together this way - and he always rubs the tops of his toes up and down her shins, getting to some pressure points where her recurring shin splints give her niggling aches. 

“I want to be their legal guardian,” he whispers, but there’s a certainty as he says it. “Tommen and Myrcella, they shouldn’t have to move to New York just because she is. Myrcy’s got her GCSEs, and she’ll be applying to university soon, it doesn’t make sense.” 

“Your sister’s not going to like it.”

“I don’t care. They’re important to me, and they won’t be happy in New York. Not… not with Joffrey there.” He says his elder nephew’s name with clear disgust, and Brienne knows there’s no love lost for the arrogant Baratheon boy. 

“There’s space for them, and you know they like it here. It’s a good idea, if you can get her to agree.” 

“I’ll need Tyrion’s help on that.” 

The two brothers start gameplanning the next day at breakfast, as Tyrion suggests several approaches, including blackmail and kidnapping. Brienne frowns when the younger Lannister mentions the latter method, knowing that he’s not really joking. She shoots him down quickly when he asks her if she thinks spray-painting Jaime’s campervan and changing the plates would work, and glares at him. 

“There’s a perfectly legal way to do this, you know?” 

“We’re their uncles. It’s not about finding a legal way, it’s about getting past Cersei. My sister’s not going to let them get what they want.” Tyrion shakes his head, as though to say  _ you sweet, naive child _ , and Jaime shrugs, agreeing with his brother’s assessment. 

Tyrion eventually pitches an idea that both Brienne and Jaime can get on board with. Knowing that Tywin’s primary concern about Cersei’s move with the children was how Joffrey would affect Myrcella and Tommen, he suggests the threat of Cersei’s oldest son being a negative influence on the younger two and how Tommen was emotionally not ready to be around him again. 

To compound it, Tyrion arranges for Myrcella to attend a six-month long pre-law course from the end of the year, knowing that Tywin had been hoping for one of his grandchildren to read law in university. 

It takes less persuasion than they expect. 

Turns out Tywin Lannister wasn’t too keen on his two “more-promising” descendants going to New York, and wanted Myrcella to attend Oxford, as he had himself for his undergraduate degree. Tommen had been a bit of a nervous wreck since Cersei had announced her plans to move, and Tywin knew that a lot of it had to do with Joffrey. He had witnessed his own grandchild’s cruelty, even when he was but a boy, when the fair-haired child had stepped on several snails because “he felt like it”, and burned them to death because he wanted to see how they’d curl up. Joffrey had never had much sympathy for the people around him, and many a tutor that Cersei hired had quit within the month, after the boy drove them crazy with his demands and incessant insults. 

With the Lannister patriarch on board, Cersei was effectively overruled - and Tyrion and Jaime both knew that she didn’t care for her two younger children the same way she did for Joffrey. Jaime wonders if it was intentional, but Myrcella and Tommen seemed to know it as well, and the children were only happy to remain in London. 

Negotiating for them to stay with the Lannister brothers rather than in Tywin’s stuffy home which was more staff than family proved to be the harder part. But after Tommen’s Ser Pounce nearly knocked over one of the family heirlooms, a vase more than two centuries old residing in the dining room of the Casterly Rock estate, Tywin relented, on the condition that they went over for dinner at least twice a week. 

“A small price to pay,” Tyrion remarked, “For the children’s health and sanity.”

\--

Jaime and Brienne are one of the few people in the gym when a truck drops off a small carton addressed to Arya. It’s well-sealed and rather heavy, and the teenager jumps off the top of the wall and sprints across the mats when she spots the familiar tape across the cardboard. It’s a Scarpa parcel, and one she’d been eagerly waiting for all week. 

She rips it open quickly, with a penknife that Jaime didn’t see her procure, and it’s filled with eight boxes of shoes. Two pairs of Instinct VSs, two pairs of Dragos, two pairs of Furia Ss, and two Vapor Vs. Arya had been wearing the Dragos for competitions and Vapor Vs when she trained, but the Instinct VSs and Furia Ss were new, and she was delighted as she put them on, only a slight wince crossing her face as she tugged the snug shoes on. 

“They said they’d send some over when I got fitted at their last visit to our training, but eight pairs!” She bounds off in the red Furias, as Catelyn shakes her head, putting the boxes back into the carton, gesturing to Podrick to haul them into the office. 

It was Arya’s first sponsorship - the first of many, she’d proudly proclaimed, despite a chastising look from her mother. Shoe companies were known to send samples to climbers all the time, but Arya had always been off the radar, and she was pleased to finally get a bit of recognition, and  _ free shoes _ , as she said it. 

"I just hope it doesn't get to her head." Catelyn crosses her arms as she looks as her daughter, who is eagerly trying out the new shoes, half to herself but loud enough for Brienne to hear. 

"She's pretty grounded," Brienne says softly. "I don't think you should be too worried." 

"She's sixteen, Brienne, how can I not be? The easier these things come, the harder it'll be when things don't go right, and what happens then?" 

"Then she learns to deal with them. You can't protect her from everything forever, Cat."  


"It's not that easy, you'll know when you're a parent." 

Brienne looks back at the teenager - who isn't all that much younger than herself, even though they feel like a generation apart. She never pegged herself for one who wanted children, especially when a relationship had always felt like a distant prospect, but looking at Jaime with Arya, and with his niece and nephew, it was plain that he loved children, and he hadn't been coy about his desire to have kids of his own. 

Maybe, she had told him, when he asked if she wanted children, not wanting to make the promise, knowing it was something she'd barely given thought to all her life; although it seemed like, it  _was only right with him_.

\--

With Tommen and Myrcella now set to move in for the longer term, Jaime realised that he had to remodel the top floor so that Brienne could have enough space for her things. Granted, she didn’t have many belongings that would clutter up his study like he was accustomed to, but he didn’t want it to feel like she was a guest.  _ This is your home now _ , he had told her, and he wanted to make good on that. 

So Jaime spends hours cleaning out documents and old clothing from his study, which is really more of a glorified storeroom with two large monitor screens and a daybed. He moves the daybed to what is now to be Tommen’s room, and shifts some of his belongings into boxes which he’ll have moved into the garage. 

He cleans out half of his wardrobe and the dresser so that there’s ample space for  _ Brienne’s clothing _ , even though they’ve realised that their pants are of a size, and her tees are only slightly larger than his because Jaime likes them fitting.  _ Too tight _ , she’d said, to which he’d retorted:  _ You like me this way.  _

And she does, even though she tells him that he’s too skinny now and urges him to bulk up a little, he’s lost most of his back muscles, and the therapy he’s been doing hasn’t helped with that. 

Brienne’s taken aback when he takes her mattress shopping. His king-sized bed was enough for the two of them, but he insists that they should have a new one for the new life they’re beginning, and she tries not to let herself think about  _ what if it doesn’t last _ , because Jaime tries his darndest to convince her that  _ it will _ . 

“Half of my life is now you,” he tells her, holding her hands in his, and he interlaces his fingers among hers. They’re both acutely aware that their hands fit differently now, there are spots which are emptier against her warm skin, but Jaime presses his fingers against hers and wills her to do the same.  _ I want to be yours, and I am yours,  _ he repeats, and she nods,  _ I know, and I am yours too.  _

“We should get an emperor-sized mattress,” Jaime says, sounding more serious than his expression lets on. He flicks through the catalogue that a salesman has passed them, and scans the room of beds quickly. 

“What? No, a king would do. What is an emperor-sized mattress?” Brienne looks at him, with more horror than surprise. 

“It’s longer and wider. It makes sense,” he says confidently, and walks over to an assistant. 

Brienne protests without much success, and they eventually emerge from the shop with an order for an emperor-sized mattress which will be delivered by the end of the week. 

“Not that we need that much space if you're going to have me as your bolster all night, but it’s always nice to have room to,” Jaime says, pausing for effect. “Explore.” 

She slaps him on the arm, but he just shrugs matter-of-factly, and looks pleased with himself as they walk back towards the car. He’s begun to drive again, but just short distances, trying to get used to the feel of the steering wheel with his weaker right hand. She sees his hesitance when heavy vehicles come close by - and she winces when he hits the brakes, slowing for them to pass more often than he should, but knows that it will take time. 

They drive over to hers to fill up her luggage and duffel bag with the last of her belongings to be brought over. Margaery has agreed to let her leave her lamp and training equipment behind, since they’d have to go into the garage at Jaime’s, and Robb seemed happy enough to have some weights to play around with. 

It doesn’t feel as monumental as it should, to leave the first place that she called home when she moved to London. Coming into the city had been a huge step for her as an eighteen-year-old, living in the capital and with millions others was a change from the slow-paced life in Pembroke. 

But it’s been weeks now that she’s been shuttling between Old Street and South Kensington, months now that she calls Jaime’s arms  _ home _ , and too much time since she thought about what this had to be. 

Moving out of Margaery's and what used to be Loras’ place, and into the Lannister brothers’ home, feels  _ right _ , but almost like a formality. She knows where the pans are and where to find new rolls of toilet paper when they run out, and where the switches are if they lose power, and that the water heats up quicker in the bathroom downstairs than in Jaime’s en-suite. 

She navigates the Kensington house easily enough in the dark when she needs a glass of water and doesn’t want to turn on the lights, and is able to remember the number of steps between Jaime’s room and the top of the stairs. 

It is already sort of her home, and she wonders if it’s a bad thing, even if Jaime says repeatedly that it is only the  _ best thing that could be _ . 

There’s a little party at Margaery’s the day that Robb moves in - a farewell and goodbye both, the end of an era, and all their friends are piled into Brienne’s now very bare room. The bed frame and single mattress is shoved against the wall, and the carpet has been freshly cleaned - if there is to be an occupant in time - and it looks strange, even though it does still smell vaguely like rosemary and mint. 

Jaime brings two bottles of red wine, forgetting that it’s a party of mostly young adults, and Brienne chides him softly because he really should have gotten two cases of beer instead. 

He puts his arm around her waist as they stand in the doorway, with their friends mostly sprawled on the floor and playing Cards Against Humanity, and Brienne leans into Jaime’s sturdy frame easily. 

_ This is the life you’re leaving behind _ , it feels almost that way, even though she’s been the one assuring that Margaery that not much will change. But plenty enough has, since the turn of the year. She still looks at Jaime with some surprise in the mornings, wonder how someone as plain and homely as her could be with someone as golden as he is, even if Jaime always says that he’s old and a shadow of his former self -  _ this is the version that she would have chosen to fall for _ . 

She glances at Loras and Renly, who are probably going to end up proposing to each other within the year, and to Robb and Margaery, who seemed like the most unlikely of couples just months ago.  _ It is time for something new _ . 

\--

Something new begins with her agreement with Tyrion. She declined his original offer, deciding that she didn’t have the sufficient expertise for such a position, but suggests helping him organise a roaming festival of sorts. 

There are close to twenty cafes affiliated with Lannister Group, and she puts forth the idea of a coffee culture festival which each cafe takes turns to host, each for a week or two. Tyrion likes the idea enough, and many of the cafes have their own ideas of what they’d like to exhibit during their week, and Brienne doesn’t feel out of her depth as she engages with the baristas and cafe owners, trying to figure out a coherent concept for the project. 

She knows that Tyrion is indulging her, it still feels more like a pet project than serious work, but he gives her the go-ahead and much too generous a budget to work with. She takes the opportunity to suggest a matching donation scheme - inviting cafe visitors to donate  £1 per cup of coffee they buy when the festival is being held at the store, and for Lannister Group to match the donation, and having the owners of the cafe decide on the charity to which the money goes to. He agrees, because it’s good exposure and CSR both, and Jaime nods approvingly as well. 

He sees the excitement in her eyes when she has discussions with Tyrion in the kitchen after dinners, and when she looks online for local artists to showcase their work in the cafes during the exhibitions. 

She'd said that it'll be a nice partnership within the community, to give artists a space to show their work, and for the cafes to have a standing partnership with the creatives, especially those who were regulars. But they don't expect it when a local band agrees to Brienne's proposal to perform for the opening day of their first exhibition at the cafe near Margaery's place, and when the four-man group refuse to take any payment for the performance, apart from coffee for all the guests they want to invite. 

\--

The first night in what is now  _ their room _ feels a bit like a celebration. Jaime brings in a bottle of red wine and two glasses, and is wearing what looks like a new pair of boxers. Brienne is wearing one of his old t-shirts, the two of them taking to each others’ clothing as though it had always been the case. 

They toast and clink their classes, careful not to spill the wine on the freshly-cleaned carpet. The sheets are soft and new, handpicked by Jaime at the store when Brienne was at work. She’d laughed when she realised how domestic he had been - from choosing sheets to arranging for a cleaner, and redesigning the room so that their massive bed didn’t make the room look too small. The rocking chair which had been a fixture in their late-night chats was now shifted to his study in place of the daybed, and an Arsenal poster of a young Robert Pires hung at the side of the wardrobe. 

“It looks like our room now.” Jaime says, gesturing with a slight flourish, and he’s right. The sheets were a gentle egg blue, with two pillows and two bolsters, since neither of them liked to share, and a gigantic duvet spread across. Two pairs of room slippers lay next to the door, even though both of them much preferred to go barefoot. 

That night, with the window cracked open enough to let the autumn breeze in and them lying in bed wrapped up together even though the bed is large enough for each of them to spread out properly, Brienne whispers: “It feels like our room now.”

She feels the wine in her head as she rests her forehead against Jaime’s cheek, and he leaves his arm lazily against her side. They talk - about how this feels  _ right and real _ , and he promises not to kick her now that they have more space, since she’d been complaining about the bruises he’s given her on her shins. 

Neither of them are very good at holding their drink despite their frames, they’d found out early enough in their relationships. Jaime always says it’s because there’s no need for him to be  _ in control _ when he’s in her presence, even though she says that can only be an excuse, and she lets herself fall apart in his arms after she’s had too much to drink. 

They kiss as though having a new bed and a new room warrants a new greeting - his tongue slow and searching as it has not been in days, and her warmth enveloping him from within. She smells like him - courtesy of his soft tee, and her hand runs across his ribs, teasing. 

But somehow moving in together makes it feel more official - like they finally do have all the time in the world together, and it feels enough to just be wrapped up together, tangled and easy. Every kiss feels unhurried, each embrace feels slow and warm, and they don’t wonder about what time it is or where they have to be the next day. Suddenly, everything feels infinite. 

So all Jaime really needs to do before he falls asleep is lean towards her, and as he did so many months before, presses a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“Welcome home, my love.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I am sorry that this took as long as it did. It's been a tiring week at work, and my schedule's been all over the place and messing up my sleep miserably. It's a shorter update too, unfortunately. But we're getting to the end, and I've got it mapped out. Two more proper chapters, and an epilogue to come. Thank you for reading this, and let me know what you'd hope to see before this comes to a close. Cheers!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I haven’t gone to a Halloween costume party for years, B, you forget that I’m an old man.” 
> 
> “That’s a blatant lie. I’ve seen Tyrion’s photos of you dressed up as a pirate from at most two years back.”

“It’s almost Halloween.” Robb looks at the roster for October, and there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes as he says it. “Jon’s always had the best ideas for Halloween.” 

“Is he coming back to London anytime soon?” Brienne remembers the Halloween last - when they had a costume contest and free entry for those who came to climb in their get-ups. Loras and Renly had come in ridiculous spandex tuxedos and won the pot by a landslide, while Brienne’s own armour-laden knight outfit was only cumbersome to move around in. 

“He says he’ll try to come back for the last weekend, but it’s also dependent on Ygritte’s schedule, so who knows? Speaking of which, we need to plan an event for the Friday before Halloween.” 

The 31st of October falls on a Thursday, but the gym always had a Halloween fund-raising event the Friday before, and without Jon and Renly this year, it would be up to Robb and Brienne to put something together. Catelyn usually gave them free reign, as long as it was something that wouldn’t compromise their insurance. 

Brienne is suddenly reminded of how Loras and Renly had goofed about on a few routes previously, experimenting with two-man climbs, and realises that it would be perfect for  _ him _ . “What about partner routes for Halloween?” 

Robb cocks his head slightly and considers it - they’d seen the videos taken at several gyms, especially some of the German ones which had a lot more space than they had at their premises, but he’d never set any partner routes himself. “Could be fun, maybe throw in a partner costume contest?” 

“Would that would be a little discriminatory against those who come on their own?” 

“Well, we could have a bonus contest for accidental matching costumes, and partner routes are also a great way for people to meet. Plus, it’s Halloween. It’s a great idea, Brienne! But I guess it means it’s time to find out more about setting partner routes - especially if we’re going to strip all the walls…” Robb looks around the gym and grimaces slightly at the thought. It would be  _ a lot of work _ , and they were short-handed now that Jon was away, even if Torrhen had plenty of experience to offer. 

“I’m sure Loras and Renly would come by to help. They do owe you one for cleaning their kitchen that night.” Brienne shrugs, and Robb nods as he types quickly in his phone.

“Alright, I’ve sent my mum a text, but it should be fine - we could probably set half the routes on Thursday, do the rest on Friday morning and open slightly later. The setters for the North gym should be free Friday morning too.” 

\--

Brienne makes all their friends promise not to tell Jaime about the partner routes for Halloween - she wants it to be a surprise, even though there isn’t much of a reason to, if only because he’s  _ always the one surprising her with little gifts  _ and she wants to reverse the roles for once. 

But she does tell him about the costume contest, because Jaime’s always competitive about silly things, and she knows he’d be better at coming up with costume ideas than she’ll be. 

Which is why she groans when he suggests going as  _ each other _ . “Jaime, that’s got to be the worst idea you’ve had.” 

“I haven’t gone to a Halloween costume party for years, B, you forget that I’m an old man.” 

“That’s a blatant lie. I’ve seen Tyrion’s photos of you dressed up as a pirate from at most two years back.” 

“Well, I didn’t realise that I’d have to recycle that costume that soon,” Jaime retorts, waving his right hand at her as she winces at his reply. “My hand looks rather much like a hook this way, doesn’t it?” 

She takes a deep breath, but Jaime’s face softens immediately when he realises that she’s concerned that it was a sore point, and breaks into a gentle laughter. “I’m kidding, don’t look so worried. I can take a joke, you know?”  _ Maybe not a few weeks ago, but a man’s got to move on, somehow _ . And he pokes her in the ribs, willing her to meet his eyes, so that he can convince her that he’s not just trying to make her feel better, as he does with the children sometimes. “But we’re not going as pirates. That’s just too easy.” 

He takes a few more days before coming up with a decent idea. 

By then, Tyrion has decided that he’s going to go as a Brexit sign - “It’s easy,” he said defensively. “Plus, I’m sure I’m not going to be the only one with a Union Jack on, I’d be sure to hit the jackpot with a matching costume.” Tommen and Myrcella choose to go as Mario and Luigi, and insist on ordering wigs off Amazon to complete their get-up, since their golden hair simply wouldn’t do. Brienne helps them alter the jumpsuits they added to their order - since they’re too long for either child, and finds the perfect little hats in a thrift store on her way to the gym one afternoon. They’ve got a good shot for the costume contest, if Loras and Renly decided to let up on their game this year, since they look adorable, especially with their very realistic-looking moustaches, Brienne thinks.

It’s only two more days to the Halloween event when two massive boxes arrive at their door. Brienne doesn’t have to open them to know that they contain their costumes, since Jaime’s grinning from ear to ear like a mischievous child, and  _ what else could they be _ ? 

She chokes on her laughter when he tears open the first to reveal a very heavy bear suit. It’s a massive, dark brown suit, and all she can think of is how either of them would be very warm in it, and how the paws would make it impossible to climb in. But her face turns to horror when she realises that the second box contains an identical suit, and it is Jaime who breaks into loud guffaws. 

“Jaime, we’re going to be rolling in these suits! We can’t even hold anything with these paws!” She flicks one of the suit arms at him, which he dodges quickly, and shakes his head as he fishes out the other costume. 

“Nope, check this out.” He holds one of the paws in his hands, and undos one of the hidden zippers to let the paw fall into his lap. “Genius, isn’t it? The hands and feet unzip, so we’ll be able to climb when we want, and be real bears when we don’t!” 

He tells her that night, when they’re entangled together, her thin hair tickling his chin as she lays on his shoulder, that he was  _ inspired _ by her failed knight costume from the previous year. They’d been watching a show where two knights had been fighting off bears with blunted swords, and Brienne had put a bet on the knights to win while Jaime had been certain that the bears would have the better of it. To both of their disappointments, the bears had simply slunk away after a while, when a pig had been thrown into their fighting pit as sacrifice. 

“Still, Jaime. You thought that thick bear suits would be great in a crowded gym?” 

“Shit.”

\-- 

Jon makes good on his non-promise and gets back on the day they start stripping the walls for the event. He’s arrived a day before Ygritte’s train gets in, and Robb wrestles his cousin onto the mats when he comes through the glass doors just after noon. 

But while Robb would have easily pinned him to the ground previously, Jon is able to flip his best friend onto his back quickly, and straddles him playfully. “Yield!” 

Jon looks a lot stronger than when they last saw him, his forearms veiny and more muscled. “I’ve been climbing outdoors whenever it doesn’t rain,” he says, when Robb demands to know his secret, even though they all know that can’t be it, since it rains ever so often up north. 

It’s a good thing he’s back - because as it turns out, setting partner routes was a lot harder than they thought. They went back and forth on a lot of holds, with many of their ideas turning out to be a lot harder than they wanted them to be. But Jon had set several two-man routes in the Glasgow gym, and climbed several when he went to Munich in August, and starts directing them as they get to putting together several beginner-friendly sets. 

Brienne realises how much Jon has changed in a matter of months - beyond his physical build, he seemed a lot chattier and less sombre, trying to ignore Tyrion’s previous assessment of his  _ dullness _ . The younger Lannister brother had also called Margaery’s attraction to Robb before any of them had even seen it coming, but Brienne was chalking that up to luck, since Tyrion was already quite insufferable when he knew he was right.

Loras and Renly come by earlier than expected on Friday to help, and are better prepared than they had been the day before, with elaborate plans for the centrepiece of their Halloween event. 

Renly had procured special holds for the occasion, a fun collection of body parts. 

Their favourite route, named ‘The Loins of Kings’ at the end of their setting session, was a collection of small circular slopers and penis-shaped holds set for pinches, jugs and crimps, and Brienne couldn’t help but roll her eyes when Loras’ eyebrows wiggled at her, asking if she was planning her and Jaime’s conquest of the route. 

Another bundle of holds, including eyeballs, random organs and bones, are fitted into two other routes. 

"Where did you find these holds? They look pretty new," Robb asks, and Renly looks slightly bashful when he does. 

Loras shakes his head and replies: "He had them made to order, because he just had to have them." 

"Come on, you love them!"

\--

She really shouldn’t have been surprised when Jaime comes in early that Friday, a good two hours before she told him to, already dressed in his bear suit, with the paws unzipped and tucked into his drawstring bag. Her matching suit is slung over his shoulder, and he looks too pleased with himself when he calls for her attention from the counter. 

His eyes scan the gym quickly, realising that the holds are a lot more sparsely arranged than they usually are, and it isn’t too long before he realises that they are partner routes. He must have seen them in some of the many YouTube videos he’s watched, Brienne realises. 

Jaime’s eyes are slightly red when she returns from the changing room, moving awkwardly in her bulky suit and looking absolutely ridiculous while Jaime somehow manages to look stunning,  _ as he always does _ , even with the hood with huge ears pulled up over his luscious golden locks. 

“Robb says it was your idea, the routes.”  _ You didn’t have to _ , he says wordlessly, his arms wrapping around her and barely reaching each other through the girth of their suits.  _ I wanted to _ , she replies, in a soft kiss, and she takes his ruined hand in her own calloused fingers, leading him to one that she had set.

They manage to do most of the routes despite their very cumbersome suits, with Brienne on the right and Jaime on the left, matching each other in a delicate dance on the walls. There’s one which Torrhen sets where he has to catch her as she throws for a jug which is a reach even for all six feet three of her, and Brienne thinks that his feet would slip on the tricky chips, but Jaime  _ holds her up _ , and even kisses the back of her hand to show off. 

With their bodies linked from Jaime’s right hand to Brienne’s left it matters little that his right hand is a shadow of what it was, and he trusts his feet more than he has  _ ever _ because he trusts her positioning and her guidance as they navigate the routes  _ together _ , and he wants to tell her that this is the only way he ever wants to climb again. 

For those hours Jaime forgets all the pain that he has had since coming back to the walls with his scarred hand, and only sees  _ Brienne.  _ He tells her that they should always climb in their heavy bear suits, that it’s effective weight training, and that they should try zipping on the hands on their costumes. And she obliges, for one of the easiest routes in the set, and chides him when she very nearly falls atop him when they fumble even on the largest holds. 

But they both run out of the gym after every route, because they'd be smothered in the heat from their suits otherwise, and Jaime takes the chance to kiss her chastely, and she lets him, since there aren't children in sight.  _Or so they think_ , because Tommen spots them through the glass doors and groans when he doesn't avert his eyes in time. 

They win the best costume prize by a landslide, even though Loras and Renly have very elaborate outfits fit for kings, intended specially to fit their route. Tyrion falls flat on his Brexit idea, completely misjudging the crowd at the gym, and the accidental matching outfits come courtesy of Sandor Clegane and Podrick, who both come wearing red t-shirts, jeans and Spider-Man masks. Tommen and Myrcella aren't too disappointed, since several strangers come up to them and take photographs with them, telling them that they had the best Mario Bros costumes they'd ever seen, and Myrcella proudly tells them that they'd spent a long time sourcing the moustaches, which are by far her favourite part of the outfits.

Arya, Jon, Sansa and Ygritte come dressed as ninja turtles, although Arya's the only one who completes the outfit with Raphael's twin sai. 

Jaime insists that they have to go on The Loins of Kings, even though Brienne looks embarrassed when he mentions it, and she tries to ignore Robb’s obvious chortle when they match on the last hold. Brienne’s only thankful that Jaime realises that there are many children around in the gym and keeps his voice low when he tells Renly and Loras that the size of the holds on the route were  _ unrealistic _ , even if she blushes at his childishness. 

They’re cleaning up the gym and dismantling some of the routes later that evening when Renly comes up to her. They haven’t spoken in a while as just the two of them, since he had moved gyms, and Brienne realises that she’s missed him - he’d been an older brother to her, and he had been the only one who knew about the adventures she’d been with Galladon before Jaime came along. 

“Have you and Jaime talked about getting married?” His questions stuns Brienne, and she can only gape at him before he chuckles. “Don’t look so horrified, Brienne. It’s hard to mistake the way he looks at you, you know? I know that look.”

“We’ve not been together for that long… I’ve moved in with him, but it’s too soon to talk about marriage.” 

“But you don’t deny you’ve thought about it.” 

Brienne knows there are things that she can’t hide - she’s always been an open book, her father had said, her expressions often giving her intentions away - and she wonders if Renly can see how she’s thought about her life with Jaime five, ten, twenty years in the future. She tries not to let him see how happy she thinks they would probably be, with Myrcella and Tommen in their kitchen and having meals together with smaller, golden-haired children, even though it was a future she had never pictured for herself in the past. But now these thoughts have faces, names; and she realises that Renly probably knows, because he claps a hand onto her shoulder and tells her he’s happy for  _ them _ . 

\--

Jaime decides that the first weekend of November is time for him to make good on his promise to Tommen and Myrcella, and plans a short trip to Dorset in the campervan. Tyrion grudgingly agrees to go along after much pleading from his nephew, but insists on booking a room at a hotel for himself because he needs a proper shower and refuses to share a bed with his grown brother. 

“Good,” Jaime says, under his breath but loud enough for Tyrion to hear. “You’d have been bundled outside in a tent since there wouldn’t be space anyway.” 

Brienne takes the wheel for most of the drive, a good three hours from London, since Jaime doesn’t yet trust himself on the motorways. They’ve packed several warm blankets and thicker sleeping bags, as well as pillows, since it was the kids’ first time camping out, and the weather had turned chilly as autumn was coming to an end. 

From his passenger seat, looking at his niece and nephew who have dozed off in the back with Tyrion reading a book on his Kindle, Jaime realises that the campervan looks better with five in it, even though he had always insisted it was best enjoyed as one not too long ago. 

They build a small campfire at the designated pit for their lot in the campground that night. Jaime teaches Tommen how to light the dry logs with corn chips and matches, and shows the boy how to fan the flames slowly and guide the fire. His eyes flicker over to Brienne, as they always do, and she’s staring at them unfocussedly, and he can’t help but smile when he sees how young she looks in the fireglow. 

But he sees her with Myrcella, how she shows her how to make s’mores and the best way to roast her marshmallows, and he realises that her age doesn’t really matter - even if Bronn has asked too many awkward questions about how it feels to be with someone who was a toddler when he was a teenager. 

No, in this light all he sees is  _ his Brienne _ , the woman of his dreams and the undoubted love of his life, and for the first time, he realises that she is all of that and more.

It feels beautifully familiar when they’re all wrapped up next to each other in sleeping bags in the campervan. But this time it’s four instead of two, and the smell of Tommen’s citrus shampoo has filled the space. 

But their sleeping bags are zipped up together this time, and Jaime holds her in an embrace even though Myrcella had wrinkled her nose and muttered to Tommen that they should probably run to Uncle Tyrion’s hotel room before it was too late. They’re sharing a small pillow between the two of them, but it doesn’t matter, because Jaime has offered his arm as Brienne’s headrest, and she snuggles into him, wearing his sweatshirt and his red beanie.  _ They’re mine now _ , she’d told him, and he tells her that they always looked better on her anyway. 

It’s not quite 3am when Jaime whispers into Brienne’s ear to wake her up, and they put on their jackets to step out of the van. The campground lights are off, save for a small lantern where the toilets are, and Jaime gestures to the sky. 

It’s a clear night, as it had been on several days when they were in the Peak District. But Jaime hadn’t woken her up then, because it didn’t seem quite right, but he did this time. It was always one of his favourite parts about camping - to be awake in the early hours when most had drifted off to sleep, to lie in the dark and quiet and watch the sky pass by. 

Tonight the clouds nowhere to be seen, as Jaime liked it best, and he put his left arm out for Brienne as they lay on a tarp in the field. It’s a small crescent moon that evening, but most of the constellations are out, even if Brienne can only confidently identify Orion’s Belt. He shows her Taurus, and the Little Dipper, and several others, and tells her about how stories from his favourite trips. 

“Did it ever get lonely, camping by yourself?” 

“It never did, although it was weird not talking to people the first time - after that, I’d usually just have a chat with whoever was at the site next to mine in the campground. Camping folk are always friendly.” 

“Do you miss it then, now that you don’t get to do it alone?” Brienne says softly, wondering if they’re encroaching on what must have been a private space for him and him alone. 

“It’s better with you around, B. And I’m happy that I can finally take Tommen and Myrcella on a trip like this, I haven’t always been the best uncle, I never was much of one until recently, and it won’t be long before they’re off to university and their own lives. I should make the most of it, before I can’t.” 

It makes her think about the times she used to camp out with Galladon and her father - and how on one occasion Selwyn had said that soon they’d be old enough that they didn’t want to be on trips with him, that they’d have their own friends and soon their own other halves, and how he wanted to take as many of these camping nights together as he could before they got old enough for all of that and too old to be with their old dad. 

She had told her father then that she’d never be too old to camp with her dad, and he had merely laughed softly, but not mockingly, saying: “My little one, you say this now, but some day you’re going to find a man whose tongue is sweeter than your dad’s, and with any luck, I’ll like him enough not to knock his teeth out.” 

She tells Jaime about it, and he says it won’t be an issue because he knows Selwyn likes him just enough, even if he wonders if his ruined hand will make a difference, even if the older man isn’t the sort to see his disability as a reason for treating his daughter any less than she deserves. Selwyn certainly hadn’t seemed to mind too much that there is some grey growing into his golden mane, that Jaime knew.

They talk about places that they’ve visited and others they’ve never been to, and about the types of trips that they’d always dreamed of, both as children and as adults. He’s surprised when she confesses that she’s always had a soft spot for Disneyland, and he bashfully admits that he thinks he’s too old to go on a proper roller-coaster these days. 

He wants to tell her that he hopes that they can take many more trips like this in the future. In this light he realises for the first time that she is not just  _ his Brienne _ , but the woman he wants to take as his wife.

Under the gentle moonlight he realises that he wants her to always be with him on his camping adventures, and that he wants her to be the mother of his children, children he’ll know and raise and love, golden-haired and blue-eyed and wild. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really, really bad at Halloween costume ideas - I went as Thing 1 a few years back and regretted it because the wig was a bitch - so I very shamelessly stole these from Superstore. *shrugs*
> 
> Thanks for reading this, and I hope it doesn't disappoint! Next chapter will be the last before the epilogue.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are beyond 'you didn’t have to' and 'thank you' for things like this, but Brienne looks at Jaime hesitantly when he asks if he can put the necklace around her neck, and it is one of 'how did I get so lucky with you' rather than 'this doesn’t feel real'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Change in chapter numbers, since this would have been too chunky if I left it as one, so I've split it up.

Thanks to the success of the Halloween event, partner routes have become a regular fixture at the Stark gym. They’re a little better at setting them now, although the routes still seem more suited to those with longer reach and more dynamic styles, even if Brienne tries to make sure they aren’t always so. 

Arya is at the gym barely once a week these days, with the school term having begun and the ramping up of national team trainings. She’s been focussing more on her lead climbing as of late, since she had to work on her endurance in light of the upcoming competitions. She still dreaded speed climbing, and wasn’t very good at it, but it was less of a concern since most of the other competitors regarded the discipline as an afterthought as well. But lead climbing was competitive, and she struggled to make the finals in several national competitions, which was not a good sign. 

But she happens to turn up on a Wednesday morning before she has to go to school, and Jaime’s in early as well before his mid-morning meeting. 

He challenges her to work on the week’s partner route with him, but blindfolded, and the young girl can’t help but take him up on it. 

Jaime admires her fearlessness even when blindfolded, how she feels carefully for the chippy footholds and weights them. He guides her through the moves, and can’t help but feel a little honoured when she trusts him wholly. 

Months on, he still wonders how they’ve become such easy friends - he’s old enough to be her father, yet she doesn’t treat him like an old man, and he doesn’t see her as a child. An equal, he thinks, that’s what Arya is, but she’s also chasing all the dreams he never had enough courage nor resolve to go after himself, and he admires her for that. 

He savours the rare opportunities that they get to climb together, and he occasionally asks her about school and her plans for university. He knows that Catelyn will insist that she gets her degree, even though Arya is adamant that it is more important to train while she’s in her prime, and he can’t help but agree with her mother - it would be hard to return to school afterwards, and he knew it’ll be easy enough to work out the flexibility to train while at university, if she wanted to. 

Arya doesn’t probe about his life as much, but he finds it easy to confide in her - Jaime tells her about his insecurities returning to the office and hating it every time someone opened a door for him because he looked like he was  _ incapable  _ of it. He’s regained most of the strength in his arm, but his grip is still lacking, even though the climbing has aided his recovery more than the therapy would have on its own. He doesn’t go for those therapy sessions anymore, after Dr Pycelle said that it was up to him to work on the exercises on his own now - and he does, and Brienne makes sure he does on the occasions that he lets up.

She tells him about how it feels like things have changed since Jon, Robb, Brienne and Loras have graduated. The latter no longer works at the gym full-time, after he found a job in marketing, where his glib tongue and quick wits undoubtedly come in handy. He still comes by on Friday evenings and the odd mornings, because he goes to the North gym on weekends, but he always seems a little more tired and less chirpy than they remember him to be, even if Loras insists that he likes his job enough. 

The house is quieter without Jon and Robb, even though Bran and Rickon, her younger brothers, have grown into annoying teenage boys, Arya says. The girl looks wistful as she tells him about how her things have invaded Robb’s old room, and how she hardly gets to see him without Margaery these days, and though he looks and seems a lot happier than he used to be, he also feels a bit less like her brother - which makes Jaime wonder if Tyrion feels the same about him after Brienne has entered their lives. (But Tyrion is also busy with his own life, he reminds himself, and a man grown, not a teenager.)

Jon’s made plans to relocate to Manchester after the new year - Ygritte’s taken another contract there, and he’d found a gym where he’d work at during her stint. He’s been very certain about how it was the right move for him, even though it meant a lot of flux in his own life, but he said that it was  _ worth it _ , and there was very little that he had to be tied to, and what there was for him in London wasn’t going to go away in his absence. 

He’d asked Jaime an awful lot about buying a campervan for himself, especially since he was going to move to Manchester and within a short driving range of crags. They’d had a lengthy discussion about the size of the camper, and Jon had eventually decided on one which was converted from an MPV instead of a van like Jaime’s, since it’d usually be just him and sometimes Ygritte as well. A smaller vehicle would navigate the smaller roads easier, and would be a lot more fuel-efficient, they realised, and it wasn’t more than a week before Jon sent a photo of his new car to their growing group chat. 

Brienne herself was less present at the gym now that her cafe project had kicked in. There were almost thirty cafes that were involved, and the entire festival would run for almost a year, and there was a lot more logistics involved than she or Tyrion had realised. But they had a growing stable of coffee joints that were happy to get on board, even if it was just a partnership for the festival and not to join the Lannister Group on a permanent basis. Her own brewing skills had improved as the weeks went by, and she’d come home one day bearing an espresso machine, with which she’d been making impeccable flat whites every morning. A grinder was next on the list, she said. 

Arya tells him about how she wants to move out even if she’s not going to university - how she doesn’t see herself being totally free of her parents so long as she stays under their roof, but London rent is awful and she understands why Sansa and Robb stayed home for as long as they did. But she was also more of a free spirit than either of her siblings, Jaime knows, and he doesn't mince his words when he tells about how it's practical to live at home, but it'll probably be better for her if she had to make things work on her own.

“Do you think you and Brienne will get your own place when Myrcella and Tommen leave?” 

He considers her question, because Tyrion has always talked about moving into his own place, but they always figured it was nicer to have company. His brother had a large penthouse studio near Tower Bridge, but he liked it as a bachelor’s pad for “entertaining”, rather than a real home. 

Jaime shrugs, and the young girl narrows her eyes at him. “You better treat her proper, Lannister,” she says in a low voice, sounding more like her mother than her sixteen years of age. 

“Calm down, Arya. I’m not toying with her, if that’s what you think, but I’m still planning.” 

“What’s there to plan? You’re a grown man with your own place, and Brienne’s the best.” 

“She’s the best, and  _ that’s why _ I need to plan.” 

\--

Sansa doesn’t expect it when Sandor asks her out for lunch one afternoon after classes. 

He drops her a short text, and she quickly replies, wondering what it could be. Margaery screens her phone, as she always does, and the Tyrell girl’s eyes widens. 

“I told you, Sansa, I knew it! He’s interested in you!” 

“Nonsense, Marg, and keep your voice down,” Sansa replies, glancing around apologetically as the two girls walk through the corridors quickly to get out of the building. She wonders if it is the case, although it would make things a little strange - she’d always seen him as a friend and an intriguing human being, but not as a romantic interest, no matter how much Margaery liked to push it. 

“Five quid if I’m right.” “You’re on.” 

As it turns out, Sansa gets the  £5.

They met at a sandwich joint two streets from campus, and he had already ordered coffee for them both. It wasn’t the grand confession of love that Margaery had predicted, but a rather sudden announcement that he'd be graduating at the end of the year.

“I’m taking my last classes this semester,” he said, telling her that he was done with his part-time studies, and was going to join a security agency in France. It had always been on his mind, and it was something he was interested in - not just the physical part of it, although that contributed to the draw. 

“Thank you, Sansa. For everything.” He doesn’t say it, but she knows - most people had steered clear of Sandor, and there were awful rumours no thanks to his older brother and an incident that had involved Tywin Lannister. It was years ago, but it was hard for most to ignore the fact that Gregor Clegane had been involved in a fatal brawl, and gotten away with it. Sandor didn’t hide the fact that they were siblings, and his own fighting prowess made it difficult to shed the negative impressions that others had formed. 

But Sansa had been different. She’d been kind to him even though it was just a simple gesture of not moving away when he took a seat in front of her in lectures, sending him notes when he’d missed a class, or a wave. And it felt like it had been an eternity since he had a real friendship like that. 

“Let’s keep in touch, when you leave?” “Yeah.” 

Margaery isn’t entirely convinced when Sansa asks for her £5 that evening, but she hands it over anyway, and Robb turns up before she can ask more, and Sansa knows better than to be a third wheel with her best friend and her brother.

\--

Brienne agrees to attend her graduation ceremony in December - there had been one in July, but she’d completely missed the email about gown rental and booking of tickets between Galladon and Jaime.  _ They’d needed her _ , and everything else had felt secondary then. 

She’s not convinced that going for the ceremony means anything, since she’d been away from university for long enough, and she was busy enough with work. But Jaime  _ insists _ , even though she complains about how gown rental shouldn’t cost £50 and tickets another bomb on their own.  _ Graduation’s a scam _ , she lamented, but he keeps nagging at her until she replies to the email and makes an appointment to pick up her gown the day before the ceremony. 

Jaime also arranges for Selwyn to attend the ceremony, even though Brienne had been in two minds about it, since Galladon wasn’t well enough to make the trip to London, and she wasn’t sure that her father would want to leave him behind on his own, even if it was just for a few days. But the stubborn Lannister gives Selwyn a call and as he expected, Brienne’s father wouldn’t have missed it for anything.  _ It’s my daughter’s graduation ceremony, I have to be there _ , and Jaime books a hotel a five-minute walk away from their house and first-class train tickets for the older man within 10 minutes of hanging up. 

He doesn’t tell her about how he feels guilty that she missed the July ceremony, and the chance to attend graduation with her friends, even if they both know that it wasn’t much of a priority for Brienne. But it would have been monumental in some way, and they would never know just how much, and he just wants to make sure that she has a memorable graduation. 

Jaime’s own had been awkward, sandwiched between ugly quarrels with Tywin and Cersei. His father had been upset because Jaime hadn’t told him about the ceremony, not wanting him to be there, and he had taken an extra semester to graduate because a trip he thought was more important at that point -  _ which he doesn’t regret at all _ . Cersei had been  _ Cersei _ , and pissed off that Jaime had deliberately opted for the second ceremony for his cohort, instead of attending the same one she did, and she found out about one of Robert’s  _ other girlfriends _ earlier that week. 

In hindsight, it felt like much of the usual drama, but it was also an unpleasant cloud surrounding what should and could have been a simple, proud moment. But he did have a good photograph taken with Tyrion, his younger brother wearing his mortarboard and grinning widely - and it was the only photograph from that day that he bothered to keep. 

Selwyn’s arrival in London two days before the ceremony is a surprise to Brienne. Jaime and her father had decided for it to be so, and told her that he’d only arrive on the morning of the graduation itself, so that he wouldn’t have to be away from Galladon for long. But Jaime wants her to be able to have that memory, and more time with her father, and he knew that even if Selwyn didn’t say it, he had missed his daughter badly, and appreciated all the time that they got to have together.

“Dad! You weren’t supposed… what about Gal?” Her excitement turns to worry in an instant, thinking about her brother. In their last phone call, Selwyn had not been optimistic - Galladon was not responding well to the treatment. He was not getting worse, but he had been no better, even if he was in decent enough spirits. 

Selwyn looks over to Jaime appreciatively, and the Lannister looks slightly bashful as he tells her about how he arranged for a nurse to be around for the week. It was one of Tyrion’s friends, who worked in a private hospital in Cardiff, but he had been happy enough to make the necessary arrangements upon the brothers’ request. 

“He wrote you a card, said I wasn’t to open it.” Selwyn passes a white envelope to his daughter, not quite as tall or broad as him, and takes her into an embrace.  _ I missed you, Dad _ , she whispers into his ear, and he smiles softly to himself as he ruffles her thin hair. 

\--

Graduation day is a lot grander than she imagined. Margaery insists on doing her makeup, and helps her pick out a dress the week before. It’s navy blue and shows off her toned arms, and somehow doesn’t make her wide hips look stiff, and Jaime helps her put on a white gold pendant which goes perfectly with the pearl earrings that he puts on their dresser. 

She later finds out that Jaime had spent more than a week looking for the perfect jewellery for her - Myrcella and Tommen had been the unfortunate chaperones as he bothered countless retail staff looking for the  _ right  _ ones. But he had picked well - and as much as she usually found jewellery bothersome, the pendant and pearls were classic and understated, and she wore them better than she had imagined herself to. 

They are beyond  _ you didn’t have to  _ and  _ thank you  _ for things like this, but Brienne looks at him hesitantly when he asks if he can put the necklace around her neck, and it is one of  _ how did I get so lucky with you  _ rather than  _ this doesn’t feel real _ . He takes longer than he should with the chain, but she patiently lets him get to it, even though she feels some of his heated frustration when he can’t get the clasp to cooperate on his initial attempts. But he gets there, and he puts his arms around her waist as she wears the pearl earrings,  _ tells her that she’s beautiful _ . 

Brienne believes him in that moment, she doesn’t always when Jaime says things like that, not because she doesn’t trust him, but because she knows she and beautiful aren’t quite complementary. _But she does feel beautiful in that dress and wearing his jewellery,_ because it feels like she’s wearing a special armour of friendship and love and part of Jaime, and if there’s a word that is undoubtedly associated with Jaime, it is _beauty._

Jaime plays the role of the ever-obliging photographer boyfriend for her and Selwyn and their small entourage of friends who make it for her evening ceremony - she carries a small bouquet of tulips not too different from the very first he had given her. They take one photograph with Tommen, Myrcella, Tyrion and Selwyn, and as mismatched the combination should be on paper, it’s a beautiful capture. They look like a real family, even though Brienne’s coarse features are nothing like the Lannisters’ delicate ones. The children take to Selwyn easily and he indulges their questions about farm life, even those that make them both sound ridiculously sheltered and ignorant. 

She’s too occupied at dinner, for which Tyrion has booked out Riverrun for, and Bronn even makes sure that he uses Welsh lamb in three of the dishes in the evening’s menu, knowing that it’s one of Brienne’s favourites. Too occupied to notice that both Selwyn and Jaime disappear for an extended period of time in between their third and fourth courses. 

Tyrion makes sure that Bronn serves them a young red Bordeaux with their spring lamb main, and it is one of the pairings for the evening that is absolutely spot on. Even though she usually tries to keep to a glass of wine, she finds herself succumbing to the liquid gold that evening - and why not, since it’s a celebration? 

The hug she shares with Selwyn before they part that evening is one of the longest in her memory - yet not long enough. He is to take the train back to Pembroke the next morning, and it would be too early for them to have breakfast together.  _ Plus, you’ll visit soon, won’t you, dear daughter? _ But Brienne misses the warmth of her father’s embrace, and it also feels like how the hugs with Galladon had been when they were younger and he used to tower over her, even though she’d always been a tall child.  _ If Gal was well, would he be like Dad now _ ?

Brienne opens Galladon’s card when Jaime’s in the shower later that evening. She knows how he likes to take a long bath after they’ve been out drinking -  _ too much grime on the tube,  _ he always complained - and realises that his writing has changed since they last wrote cards for each other. They must have been young teenagers then, writing birthday cards like the ones they did for their mother and sisters. Except those were folded into little boats and let drift into the sea from what was her favourite beach, and Brienne tries not to think about the birthdays which she will float cards to Galladon as well. 

_ Dearest Brienne,  _

_ Congratulations on real adulthood! Wish I could have been there to see you in your gown and receiving your scroll - I’m sure you’d have looked wonderful towering over the dean, did you wear heels?  _

_ I haven’t said it enough, but I am so, so proud of you and what you’ve done for yourself, and I hope that you always find fulfilment in all that you are doing. I’ve been following some coverage of your cafe project, and the reception has been really positive, it’s a great initiative. Wish I could tell people that my baby sister was the brain behind all of that, but I guess there’s really no one to tell, is there?  _

_ I have missed so much of your greatest hits, and this is yet another of them, and I know this won’t make up for the other days I’ve not been a part of. But I wish your graduation to be the start of something even better, and for you to always seek joy in the days, with the best people by your side. I’m happy that you and Jaime have found each other - make sure he always treats you well, and if he doesn’t, tell me. I’ll have his head, somehow.  _

_ Look forward to seeing you soon, but I suppose it’ll have to be when you come home next - I doubt I’ll be leaving this place anytime. I don’t know what Dad has told you, but it doesn’t really matter, these days can be short but we’ll make do.  _

_ Love you always, G.  _

She can’t help her loud, ugly sobs when she reads his last paragraph, an untidy scrawl from the lack of practice and disuse, and all the bitterness she harbours against the Gods for threatening to take yet another loved one from her side. Galladon sounds resigned, but he also seems like he has made peace with his lot, and she wonders if there can be more she can ask for, and she chides herself, for not being able to do more, or anything at all, for her brother - but she is so far away and nowhere near to closing that distance. 

_ I’m sorry, Gally, I’m not there, and it’s my fault, and it shouldn’t be this way _ , she says to herself, wanting to call him and tell him in person, but she knows she’d be tongue-tied and it’ll upset him. She wishes he could have been around at dinner, at the ceremony, to take photographs with her gown and mortarboard for himself, to have a proper family portrait, the three of them - the last was too long ago, when Brienne was less freckled and less muscled. 

Jaime comes into the room to see her swollen eyes, and his gaze softens when he goes to her in their bed. He doesn’t try to probe, doesn’t ask, but he looks at the letter that she grasps in her hand, and guesses that it is Galladon. Instead, he just puts his arms around her and lets her lean into him, sobbing quietly when he rubs small circles on the back of her hands, and kisses her temples tenderly.  _ It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok _ . 

He suggests that they take a trip to Pembroke for Christmas - it’s just two weeks away, and they’d both be free then, and neither of them had much plans anyway. She nods, and he tells her they’ll take the camper, and have a nice drive up for the holiday, and she nods again. 

That night, as she drifts into restless sleep, still in his arms, Jaime thinks about the conversation he had with Selwyn. 

He’d been nervous and continually thinking about what he’d say, but he eventually went straight with it and told the man that he wanted to propose to Brienne. “I want to marry her,” he’d said plainly, and the warm hands placed on his ruined right was all that he needed. 

_ Promise me that you’d always do things with her happiness in your heart _ , Selwyn had told him, and Jaime did,  _ both in heart and mind _ , he replied. 

_ I’d like to ask her in Pembroke, at Christmas, and I know she’d be happy if you and Galladon could be there. I would want my brother and Tommen and Myrcella there as well - they love Brienne, and I can’t think of a better way for it to be.  _

_ I’d be happy to be there, Jaime.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got carried away writing the softness that my heart wants. So here I leave, with the promise of yet another to come. Thank you, for all the love and kudos and comments, I appreciate all of them very, very much.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The proposal.

Jaime shows his brother the ring before their drive to Pembroke for Christmas. It's understated, a cornflower-blue sapphire set low on a simple platinum band, and just how Jaime had envisioned it to be when he'd gone ring-hunting. Choosing a ring was harder in his head before he actually went out and did it, and it was at the third jeweller he visited that he saw this beautiful gem, and just  _knew_ that it was  _it_. 

"Have you thought about how you're going to ask?" Tyrion laughs as Jaime grimaces slightly - he's always been more of the spontaneous sort, but this feels like the kind of situation where you can't just  _wing it_ , and he doesn't want to fluff it in front of Selwyn and Galladon. 

He knows how he wants it to be: In the Tarths' living room, with the warmth of the fireplace burning at the side, after their Christmas dinner, and with the lights turned low. With her family, and his - Tyrion, Tommen and Myrcella - in witness. 

He'd considered doing it when it was just the two of them -  _on a camping night in the national park, with the constellations overhead and their sleeping bags zipped together, having bashed through some trees and bushes earlier in the day and huddling together for warmth._ But the months he's spent with her, the time he's had interacting with Selwyn, seeing her with his niece and nephew, makes him feel like this next step isn't just for them. And it feels  _right_ , for it to be a family affair. 

Afterall, they'd have their three-day overnight hike together before Tyrion and the kids got in two days before Christmas. 

\--

They spend the three days hiking the coastal path carrying their tent and sleeping bags and plenty of warm clothing, with enough food between them. It’s cold, as Robb had suggested and they knew it was going to be cold, but it’s just  _ warm enough  _ in the tent with their sleeping bags zipped up together, woolly hats and thick socks, and their hands entangled in each other’s.

Jaime tries to remember if the Pembrokeshire Coast was this beautiful the last time he was there. It’s less rainy than most Decembers are, Brienne says, as she marvels at how her boots are still relatively dry even on their second day. 

But it’s foggy, which makes some of the paths a little dicey, but Brienne treads the foot-paved areas with confidence, and he takes her and follows in her footsteps. 

He tries to remember where the most scenic places along the route are, tries to decide where would be the best place to  _ ask _ , but soon realises after a couple of hours that there is no  _ most scenic  _ place. 

There are parts which overlook the dramatic cliffs, the Atlantic spanning all they can see, and the absence of the birds which would have been there in warmer months.  And there are parts where the fallen leaves have left sinister trees, which Jaime has always found himself very taken by. 

He wants to make a little fire at night, but it’s not permitted within the park grounds, and Jaime settles for cuddling together and trying to make out the constellations in the slightly cloudy sky. It’s not as clear as it would have been had it been April, but it does, anyway. 

He tells her how beautiful it is, to be by her side, in the coldest of winter, and how it’s more beautiful to see her home ground together, even though it’s grey and dreary most of the hours. But the waters, while not as blue as he knew they could be, are so vast that they seem endless, and he can’t help but think about Brienne as a child with all her freedom in these lands. 

“I’d like to raise our children in Pembroke,” he tells her, as they bash past some overgrown bushes, and catches her by surprise. 

“There isn’t much to do here, Jaime, they’d have to move somewhere for school, eventually.” 

“Yeah, but it’s perfect for children, you know? To run around, play in the mud and waters, be free, see all of this.” He waves his right arm and gestures wildly, the last two unfilled fingers of his glove waving in the wind. “I’d have given anything to have had this in my childhood.” 

Brienne laughs softly, but there’s a seriousness in her eyes - and he knows she’s probably thinking about how he said  _ our children _ \- they’d talked about it briefly, on occasion. 

_ I never saw myself as a mother, Jaime _ , she’d said more than once, and he’d told her  _ you take good enough care of me, and you’ve got the respect of every child I’ve met _ . 

_ The only children you’ve seen me interact with are teenagers, and they aren’t all that much younger than me, you’re an old man, J.  _

_ Our children would be beautiful _ . 

_ Only because you’re beautiful, and you know that too.  _

_ No, they’d be tall and strong and have your fair hair and blue eyes _ . 

_ Now you’re just being silly _ . 

“Perhaps,” she says, without much of a finality even as she walks ahead, but there’s a small twinkle in her eyes. 

\--

She didn't realise how much she'd missed her childhood home until they pulled up in the camper outside the house. It looked just as it did when she'd left for university - the gates had been painted with a fresh coat, and the rusting locks had been replaced, but it still had the same ring when the metal clashed. 

Her room was emptier than she remembered. The double bed which she had spent so many hours tossing and turning in at night when she dreaded going to school at the start of a new year - fearful of the relentless teasing and the rude remarks - was still tucked next to the window, but her wardrobes had been removed and replaced with a plain hanging rack. There was still some clothing in the dresser, t-shirts worn soft from years of washing, and the oversized joggers that she'd preferred from a young age. 

"I was expecting to see some weights and equipment in here," Jaime teases lightly when he steps into her space. 

It smells like your room used to, he tells her, and she shrugs because she's never quite understood what he meant by that, but supposes it's the same way how Jaime's sweatshirts always smell faintly of vetiver. 

"Had to give them away when I moved, but I'm sure the kids at school have been making decent use of them." 

Brienne tells him about how home feels different now as they both sit on her double bed - it had felt infinite when her father first bought it for her as a 12-year-old, when her legs started getting too long for the single mattress that she used to sleep on. But after sharing their large bed back in London, this double feels like what Pembroke and Wales has felt like - mostly covered with nostalgia, but firmly in the past, and a reminder of how far she's come. 

She's spent a few lunches with Tyrion talking about her future with Jaime - her boss, even though he refuses to let her refer to him that way, is understandably invested in where they're headed, but was notably reserved when she asked him what Jaime had told him. "I'm not telling either of you what we have spoken about in private, and that's only fair," he'd defended, and she had to agree with him. 

_It feels comfortable this way, even though it really has no business to be - I'm barely out of university, trying to figure out what I'm going to do with my life, and truth be told, I don't really know. I always thought I'd wind up just taking a good solid job offer I got out of university, work that for a bit, and then switch if I wasn't getting anywhere. Never thought I'd get this serious about working in a climbing gym, or working with cafes, but all this has happened. With Jaime, and he makes it easy, you know, to just run with things and be comfortable figuring things out as they come._   


_A lot of times it feels like I don't deserve to be here. But I am, and I guess I'm most worried about trying to make sure that I am justifying all these opportunities, and I know I wouldn't be able to do it without him. But I know he wants something more than this - he talks about wanting children, about moving away from London and seeing more of the countryside._

"Do you see that life for yourself too?" Tyrion had probed. 

"I know I want it too, but how and when and where is something I guess we'll only really figure out when we're there? I don't see myself doing this cafe thing for long, much as I enjoy it. I know I want to focus more on the gym, and that is the life I know I'll always be happiest with. But these are things I know I want to try." 

She admits to Tyrion that she enjoys the dates when it's not just her and Jaime - when they take Tommen and Myrcella out to the outskirts of London, for a fun day out, and the rare occasions when they've gone on a day hike.  _He'd be a really good father,_ she says, and she knows Tyrion isn't joking when he replies that it's probably one of the things that Jaime wants most in his life,  _but no pressure._

_\--_

Jaime knows he really has Selwyn's blessing when the older man gives him a golden brooch with a few small blue sapphires set in a circle. 

"It was her mother's, and I gave it to her on our first wedding anniversary. I know you care about Brienne, and I've rarely seen her as happy as she is with you. Take good care of my daughter, Jaime. She's my only baby girl." 

He knows there's no good way of saying  _thank you_ ,  _I will_ _, I promise_ to a request from a father, so he embraces him instead. In the kind of bear-hug that he always wished that Tywin would have given him when he was younger, in place of the gruff  _good job_ or  _that's nice_ , the kind of warmth that he had always wanted for himself and Tyrion.

And it surprises him when Selwyn returns his tight hug, and ruffles his golden hair as though he's a child, and tells him  _I look forward to having another son_.

\--

It's just as he had envisioned it on Christmas night. 

It's freezing out, and it's been snowing the last two days, so everyone's huddled on the couches in front of the fireplace. It's been a while since he lit a proper fireplace, since they usually found it too much of a bother and a fire hazard to use the one in their home, even though it was fully-functioning. 

But Selwyn is as old-school as they come, and doesn't think it necessary to use electric heating until it's absolutely necessary - which really means  _never_. 

Christmas carols are playing in the background, but Tyrion switches it to _Can't Help Falling In_   _Love_ on Jaime's cue as he returns from the washroom.

Brienne catches his eye once the opening riffs play - and they exchange a soft gaze as they both remember the first time they'd heard it together. 

_They'd been sitting in the car, on the way back after a particularly trying physiotherapy session, and Jaime had been frustrated with his lack of progress. "I'm never going to get the use of my fucking hand back, Brienne, there's no point in going back. It's not getting better, it never will."_

_But she'd held his hand and told him it didn't matter whether he'd ever be the same again, that she'd still be there, and she knew he'd get better someday, he just needed to give it time, and she'd told him that over and over and over as his clenched fist_   _relaxed._ _He'd told her that it was a special song only a few weeks later, when he was able to tie his shoelaces without fumbling, and told him that it was one of the times when he'd never been surer that even if he wasn't right, they were right. She was right._

He half-smiles as he walks towards her, and Myrcella and Tommen pull her to her feet with soft giggles, standing under the mistletoe that the children had put up earlier that day after some pointed urging from Tyrion. 

"Hello, B," he starts, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the black velvet box which he's tried desperately to hide over the last few days.

"I'd planned a script and everything, and I promise I had it memorised, but turns out my memory isn't quite as good these days, so." Jaime laughs nervously, and looks her in the eyes as he opens the box slowly to reveal the shining ring. 

Brienne bites her lower lip as she smiles back at him. "Jaime.. it's beautiful. And..."

"Shh... I told you I'd have a speech for you. 

"I never thought we'd be here like this when we first met. I thought you were making fun of Tyrion the first time he told me about you. But here we are, with your family and mine, and I'm hoping that today will be the beginning of  _our family_.

"You've seen me at my absolutely worst and my very best. Seen me as a golden lion and now an ageing cripple. But you've always tried to help me be the better version of myself, always believed in me when there wasn't much to get behind, and you're watching Leeds games with me. I can't see my life without you anymore, and when I think about my future it's always with you, with the children we'll hopefully have, and we're always smiling in these scenes in my head. I don't think I've ever been this happy in my life, and it's all you, B. 

"I hope to always give you good days to remember, and to take your worries when they make you weary. I want to journey these days with you, and let the time take us where we're meant to me. Will you have me, and be mine?"

Jaime drops to one knee, and takes the ring out of the box to hold it up to her. 

"It'll always be ours, Jaime." 

\--

They lay side by side in the double bed which is definitely too small for the two of them both, facing each other in her empty room, and Jaime can't take his dopey smile off his face.

"Your jaw's going to cramp up if you keep that up, J." 

"I can't help it, I'm happy."

"I didn't get to say anything." 

"You know I'm always ears for you, B." 

"You make me feel like I'm the luckiest person alive, you know? Like all of this is really a dream and you're not really in my life, but every morning I wake up and you're snoring beside me and your legs have no respect for personal space but it's all of you, and I think that's the best part of us. Thank you. Thank you for always being my rock."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while - I rewrote it thrice, because I couldn't quite decide how I wanted it to end, there felt like there was too much unnecessary detail, then too little, and then I decided that it actually didn't matter at all. This story has been cathartic to write, and a good distraction for me when work got dull, but things have ramped up in my personal life over the last month. 
> 
> There will still be an epilogue, set a good time into the future. 
> 
> Till then, thank you, all of you, who have read this and given me the encouragement to continue it, and thank you to all the great writers on here who have been an inspiration. 
> 
> Let me know what you'd like to see in the epilogue, I don't have a fixed structure as of yet!


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometime after they said they'd be 'yours' and 'mine'

_ the night before the wedding _

“I don’t get why I can’t stay in my own house the day before my own wedding,” Jaime grumbles as he throws his wedding suit and a small duffle into the back of his car. 

“It’s the rules. I don’t make them, Tywin Lannister decides which ones he cares about, and we follow suit,” Tyrion deadpans, as he gets into the front passenger seat. He glances at the suit which Jaime has carelessly tossed, and rolls his eyes, knowing that he’d be the one who makes sure it’s steamed properly when they’re out of the car.

They’re off to stay at Tyrion’s apartment for the night, since their father had decreed that it was bad luck for the to-be-newlyweds to be under the same roof the day before they were wed. 

Jaime doesn’t believe a word of it, but Brienne decided that it wasn’t something worth fighting the Lannister patriarch over, and she was right. 

It doesn’t stop him from texting her all night before he falls asleep. 

He’s become accustomed to their shared room, their shared bed, their shared space. The way she tiptoes to the washroom when it’s late at night, because Tommen had once remarked that he could hear their footsteps from the room below. 

He finds himself craving her goodnight kiss, and misses pressing his lips to her forehead, a callback to their beginnings and a reminder of all that they have chosen to give to each other. 

So he is silly, and kisses the camera on his phone, tells her he can’t wait to call her his wife, even though they’ve lived like an old married couple for a long while already. 

Myrcella and Tyrion always groan whenever they walk in on them kissing in the kitchen, especially in the mornings, but Jaime always responds with a longer kiss instead, grinning at his niece and brother proudly. 

  
  


_ something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue _

“This is a silly wedding tradition, remind me why we’re doing it again?” Brienne groans, as she agonises over what is the  _ something borrowed  _ that she’s to have on the day. 

Margaery and Sansa have helped her with most of it - her wedding’s dress tailored to fit and thus  _ new _ , and she’s wearing her mother’s brooch with sapphires so that’s  _ something old _ . 

The ribbons on her flats, which Jaime insisted on because he knew she’d be grumpy and frustrated trudging around in heels and didn’t want to bear the brunt of that, are navy  _ blue _ and match the detailing on her dress. 

She considered borrowing a bracelet or a clutch, but it just didn’t seem quite right. 

It isn’t until they rope Myrcella in that the teenager just smiles brightly, and says she’s got  _ just the thing _ . 

She comes back to Brienne and Jaime’s room with a small jewellery box, and Margaery eyes it with gleaming eyes. 

“Are they earrings?” She glances over at Brienne’s plain diamond studs - simple, understated everyday earrings that she only takes off on special occasion - they suited the dress, and they suited Brienne, but they had been considering swapping them out for something just a bit more special. 

Myrcella nods, and opens the box to reveal a pair of oval, royal blue earrings. 

“They were my grandmother’s. Grandfather gave them to me for my twelfth birthday, but I haven’t worn them ever. They feel like they’re meant for something more special, but they’d look great on you, Brienne.” 

Jaime’s eyes light up when he catches sight of them as Brienne walks down the aisle to meet him at the front of the altar, recognising them from some of the pictures they had taken when he was a small boy. 

“Wish you were here, Mum,” he whispers, glancing upwards for a brief moment.  _ Wish you were here to see the happiest day of my life.  _

  
  


_ one summer’s day  _

“Uncle Gal’s here!” Tommen’s voice rings from the corridor, scrambling to open the door as the bell rings. 

Brienne laughs as she and Jaime walk down the stairs - the children decided that it was weird to call her Aunt Brienne, but they never seemed to hesitate calling Galladon ‘uncle’. She was too young to be an aunt, Myrcella had said after some consideration, and they were content to keep calling her  _ just Brienne _ . 

Galladon and her father were in London for a week - Gal had a medical appointment with a specialist at the St Thomas Hospital, who had seen him briefly in Cardiff and thought he was a good candidate for an experimental drug. 

“Hi, pal!” Galladon walks unsteadily into the house, and is met quickly by a reassuring embrace from the boy, as Selwyn strides in behind them. 

“Dad, we could have picked you guys up from the train station.” Brienne sinks herself into her father’s arms, as Jaime and the older man exchange a twinkly smile. 

“Nah, it was fine. How are things, kids?” 

“I wish we could have gone to visit you instead, Grandpa. London’s stuffed with tourists this time of the year, and it’s so unpleasant to take the tube!” Myrcella leans into Selwyn’s side, as he ruffles her hair softly. 

She’s grown a little taller over the last few months, and will be going to university come August, but Brienne’s father still towers over her easily and makes her look like the child she hasn’t been in a while. 

Jaime had been hesitant when Tommen first asked if they could call Selwyn ‘grandpa’ now that he and Brienne were married, since they felt more like mum and dad and it didn’t seem right to call Selwyn ‘uncle’ too. 

But Selwyn had been only too delighted to have the kids address him as such, and doted on them as though they were his blood.  _ More so than Tywin ever would _ , Jaime thinks, as he sees the children pepper the older man with questions about how he’s been since they met in March. 

  
  


_ Halloween _

Jaime insists on sponsoring this year’s Halloween celebrations, and Catelyn finally relents when he says that she can’t reject him three years in a row. 

His favourite Halloween is still the one three years ago when he’d felt like three-quarters of a man, and they’d gone in their bear suits, but he  _ promises  _ that this year, they’d top that. 

Jon’s back, as he always is every Halloween, but Ygritte has to give this year a miss, since she’s on a project in Greece. He seems no closer to settling on a place to be, since her work will never be in one place, but he’s been living in London for nearly three months, the longest he’s been home in years, and the reluctance to move has been hitting him harder these days. 

But he can’t insist on her moving to London,  _ it isn’t fair _ , and it’s a standstill, he confides in Jaime. 

_ You don’t get to choose who you love, but you get to decide how you want to love, and you’ll make the right decisions,  _ Jaime tells him, clapping a hand to the younger man’s broad shoulders. 

Jaime manages to get one of Bronn’s proteges to cater food for their Halloween party - it’s nowhere as fancy as the Riverrun chef’s specialties, but the young man was briefed to stick closely to the theme  _ earth _ as closely as possible, and he does it well. 

A crowd favourite is the thrice-roasted beets, which Jaime specially requests, knowing that they’re Tommen’s favourite. An odd choice for a child, but the boy had a soft spot for the earthy richness of the root vegetables. 

The costumes are more elaborate this year, as they go with a rustic, Western theme. Loras and Renly are given free rein to design and make sure everyone is perfectly coordinated, and they don’t scrimp on it, especially with Jaime bankrolling it all. 

But of course, the golden Lannister hadn’t planned on being stuck with the costume of a saddle boy all night. 

Neither Margaery or Sansa climb very much these days - work has made it hard for Friday nights to be a thing, but they make it a point to turn up for Halloween, and for just that night,  _ it feels like the old times _ . 

  
  


_ moving day  _

Jaime didn’t plan on Cersei being around when Myrcella moved into her university hall. But his twin sister flies back to London with Joffrey in tow, and he’s glad that she’s made the effort, since she’d been mostly hands-off since she decided to move to New York. 

He hadn’t thought that she knew Myrcella was going to read law at Oxford, and he sees the happiness in the girl’s face when her mother  _ congratulates  _ her on it. 

But none of them are glad to see Joffrey, now a grown man in his twenties, but idling around now that he’d dropped out of three colleges in successive terms. Even the good Lannister name and money couldn’t buy him a full year of education, and Tywin Lannister had well and given up, turning his attention to his two younger grandchildren. 

It’s a bit of a relief when Tywin tells Jaime and Tyrion, quietly over lunch, that he’s going to disinherit Joffrey and remove him from his will. He bluntly urges Jaime to have children of his own, and tells him that any children of his and Brienne’s would have a trust fund sufficient to see them through any private school they wanted. 

Jaime coughs and pretends he didn’t hear that last bit, but Tyrion solemnly nods and says: “I’ll make sure they see it through, Father.”

They take Jaime’s camper, a larger van which replaced his old one and sleeps six easily, on a drive to Oxford - it’s not a long drive, and was a better idea than the train given how many boxes and bags Myrcella was hauling off to university. 

“Are you sure you really need all these, Myrcy?” Tyrion prods one of her heavier boxes, wrinkling his nose as Jaime and Brienne load the luggage into the back of the camper. They’ve had to remove the mattress and the cooking apparatus from the van to make everything fit, and even then, they’ve got to put two bags in Jaime’s car which Brienne’s driving with Tommen. 

“In case I don’t have time to come back on the weekends, yes.”

  
  


_ Boxing Day _

“I told your dad that we’re staying here for a month in April.” 

“Jaime, we haven’t made plans for that yet.”

“Tommen’s going to be at summer school in California, Myrcella’s doing that volunteering gig in Thailand, it’ll just be us. I’m sure your dad and Gal will be happy to babysit when we go camping.” 

“I don't want to be apart from the twins for that long. You're going to whine by the first night too.” 

“I guess they can come along then, there’s space in the camper.”

"We're not doing it." 

 

_ april bloomsday _

"Are you sure you'll be able to handle the kids for the two weeks?" Selwyn rarely looks this worried - but he didn't realise that Jaime and Brienne were planning to take his two grandchildren, barely two years of age, on their camping trip to Ynys Dinas. 

"They've been better behaved since we told them they're going to be big brothers soon," Jaime says, putting his right arm around Brienne's waist. 

"Wait, what?"  


"You're going to be a grandfather of five soon, Dad." Brienne smiles sheepishly - they'd been wondering when would be a good time to share the news with him. They'd found out just before the drive to London, when she found herself stricken with the awful, familiar nausea. 

It'd been terrible when she was carrying Tyler and Gallen, and three days into the recent episode, they knew it couldn't just be food poisoning. 

"Then you best be more careful than usual, love. Otherwise I'll have Jaime's head, as usual." 

"Roger that, Dad." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t decide what I wanted for this apart from that it would be their ‘ever after’. So here’s glimpses into our favourite couple’s future, not in any particular order. I hope it’s a good ending to this fic, it’s been such a pleasure writing this. 
> 
> This fic has seen me through the most idle and busiest times at work, and been a real source of motivation when it felt like some things in my real life were headed nowhere. And the encouragement - kudos, comments, hits - was more than I thought I'd ever get when this begun. It's been such a ride.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, and thank you, for everything.


End file.
